The Questing Knight
by InnerFire
Summary: On the border between the Empire and the Sylvanian lands, one man fights to hang on to his humanity. He is starting to lose that battle. When an untried questing knight crosses his path, will he turn back, or complete his decent into madness?
1. Count Calmus

**A/N: Hey there readers! Please review and tell me what you think of the intro! With this main character, part of what I'm trying to do is experiment with portraying a reluctant bad guy, but I'm not sure how well I pulled it off. Any comments you have on that would be appreciated. **

**On a different note, please critique how I portray the main character as a vampire. This was an old story from a long time ago that I just started working on, and I'm not really a vampire nut to be up on all the brand new vampires they have out now; I just tried to use the old Dracula-esque type that the Von Carstiens seem to embody (burn in the sun, turn into bats, sleep in a coffin, that sort of 'classic' thing).**

**Speaking of Von Carstiens, I hope I got the lore right. I wanted to use my Warhammer VC book for reference in this story, but this girl (whom I have a huge crush on, btw) borrowed it, and then **_**lost**_** it. (I warn you, readers, black hair + brown eyes = nothing but trouble.) So, if I get any lore wrong, that's why. **

**Anyway, enough of my babble! On to the story, and I hope you like it! Please review!**

Count Calmus sat slumped over his desk, supporting his head with his hand. His eyes drooped towards the letter he was writing; it had been a busy day, and it was late at night; he was tired. Ugh, those peasants… He got up and paced the width of the small room over to the window, where he started up at the night sky. The peasants had stood in a line so long it stretched outside his keep, but he had seen them all, going personally to look at disputed property lines, hearing witnesses against cattle thieves, and dispensing the cold, hard justice of a day in the stockades on rabble-rousers and other vicious scum. He chuckled to himself. These peasants were always so discontent with each other; someone was always moving the family fence to take more of his neighbor's property, or stealing some small trinket. The threat of a month in the dungeon usually cleared up the trouble, but sometimes he felt like he was spending more time coddling his subjects than actually ruling.

Shaking his head, he mused, "Perhaps I should take a hint from some of my fellow noblemen. Cut off a few heads and everything quiets down."

Speaking of which…

He turned back to his deskand looked down at the letter, illuminated by single candle. Even after such a long day, he had more to worry about than his misbehaving peasants.

Something was brewing in the Sylvanian court; he knew it. The missives from the court had abruptly ceased several months ago, and when they resumed, they had taken on a different quality. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew that something was wrong. Since his territory was far out to the north of sylvanian lands, he usually kept in constant contact to monitor any suspicious activity around the border, and it did not bode well when the count did not wish to seek his report from the borderlands. He was to about send this letter by courier tonight, to another Count, to see what he could learn without going there personally. He felt in his bones that to attend the court would be a mistake.

As he sat down and dipped his pen into his inkwell, the door opened and his page entered, "A visitor to see you, m'lord."

Calmus rubbed his eyes, "A visitor? At this hour? Who is it?" he waved his hand in dismissal. "I will see him in the morning. Let him sleep here until then."

"Sir, this visitor is Count Vernard."

Calmus' eyes narrowed in the flickering light of the candle. Vernard's territory was close to the main court. He wouldn't need to send that letter after all. "Send him in."

Alert now, he watched Vernard enter, and softly shut the door behind him. "Greetings, Calmus."

"Greetings, Vernard. Take a seat, won't you?"

Vernard did. Calmus had never seen much of Vernard, but he could see that something was wrong just by the way he moved. It was a bit too...quick. Discreetly, Calmus slid open a drawer and grabbed a letter opener, just in case.

"I'm terribly sorry that I have received you in this dreary little writing space, but you caught me quite unawares. I would suggest that we move to a more comfortable room, but I suspect that you did not come here in the middle on the night to pay me a social visit."

Calmus leaned over the desk. "Let's have it, Vernard. What's going on in the court? Is there an uprising? Is Von Carstien sick? Is there a plague? What's wrong there?"

At Vernard's silence, he impatiently raised his voice, "Out with it, man! What's afoot?"

Vernard rose, his face shrouded in darkness. "There may be listening ears. Let me whisper the news to you."

Suspiciously, Calmus rose and leaned over the desk. "Yes, what is it?" Calmus kept his eyes on the other man's hands, still suspicious and not knowing what to expect. Vernard leaned in to whisper in his ear. In a voice as smooth as silk, he whispered, "Join the ranks of the unliving, my friend."

The page boy outside heard the scream, ran and yanked open the door as fast as he could.

The first thing he saw was the count slumped over his desk, screaming out in pain, and grabbing at his neck, blood oozing from the wound. "Count Calmus!", he yelled. The loyal page rushed forward and grabbed him, holding his hand against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. Calmus looked at him in surprise, then froze for a moment, his head whirling.

"Run." He whispered. Clamus looked the terrified page boy in the eyes, and on impulse, forced the words out past the gurgle of blood, "Tell.. uak.. everyone to run. Take nothing. ..huu… Just..." He heaved the last word out as a strangled yell, with the last of his living strength, so loud that it was heard in the courtyard below; "RUN!" He heaved a shaky breath, and managed a few final words, "Get everyone out of here, or they are all dead."

"That was a very foolish thing to do, count."

The page boy whipped his head about, and saw the visitor Vernard, slumped against the wall, with something sticking out of his chest, very near his heart. Very near his heart, but the man was not bleeding.

Vernard was slowly rising to his feet, clumsily grasping to pull the blade free of his chest. The page looked down and saw Calmus was not moving. At that he fled in terror, and the cry went up, first from the keep, then in the guard posts, then in the town.

"RUN, RUN if you want to live!" the page shouted and screamed as he ran through the streets, "The Count is dead, and we need to run!"

"What?"

"Stop shouting, boy! It's the middle of the night!"

"How?"

"Stop making trouble!"

"Why?"

The bloodspattered page's answer sent everyone to fetch their children and horses.

"VAMPIRE!"


	2. 10 Years Later

Count Calmus sat slumped over his desk, supporting his head with his hand. His eyes drooped towards the map he was studying; it had been a busy night, and it was almost dawn; he was tired. He got up and paced the width of the small room over to the window, where he started up at the slowly brightening sky. The orcs had attacked some of his fellow Counts again, and he had gone personally to assist, his wight riders smashing the orc lines from behind when they least expected it. He chuckled to himself. Those orcs were never very bright; he could see their 'strategies' a mile away. "Run in dere and hit them wit wut is in ur hands." was usually the extent of it, although sometimes the goblins got sneaky and went around behind for a rear assault with some explosives, but thankfully not tonight. A few zombie pits right in front of the orc lines usually cleared up the trouble, but sometimes he felt more like he was herding a flock of dumb green sheep than actually waging war.

Shaking his head, he mused, "Perhaps I should take a hint from some of my fellow noblemen, and start using them as fodder for my army."

Speaking of which…

He turned back to his desk looked down at the map, illuminated by single candle. Even after such a long night, he had more to worry about than a few rampaging orcs.

"And you are certain they are headed this way?" he asked his wraith servant, pointing at a the map.

"Yes, m'lord."

"And how many?"

"Perhaps a few hundred, m'lord. Enough for a raiding party, not enough for a real invasion."

Calmus sighed down at the map.

"Who are they? Do they have chaos spawn? Did it look like there were any warlocks? A chaos banner? Any demons?"

The wraith nodded. "Several hundred beastmen. They travel under the banner of Nurgle." And, he added, "The Nurgle champion at the front of the lines was kept in a shroud, it is difficult to tell just how much of a threat he will be without even getting a look at him."

Calmus nodded. "Good, that's less than I thought. Then-" He cut off as he glanced out the window and noticed that the sky was far too bright for his taste. Dawn was approaching. "Then I think I shall retire for the day."

As he hurried downstairs to his coffin, he mulled the new information over. That number of raiders hardly posed a real concern to his keep, but they were going to force another course of action upon him. As he climbed in, and closed the lid, he felt a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a creeping numbness that he knew all too well. He had exerted himself by aiding his fellow Counts, and now, if he was to meet these chaos raiders in combat, he would not be able to put it off any longer. He would need to feed soon.

* * *

The following evening, as he awoke from his slumber, the numbness was more subdued, but still present. Grudgingly, he creaked the lid of his coffin open, and stumbled out and down to the dungeon. He hated this. His fellow Counts would think him a complete fool, but he had always despised this part. He had been a good man, once. Or at least, he thought so. Even when he was alive, his fellows had always called him too soft, too unwilling to mete out the justice of the gallows or carry out surprise attacks on an enemy. Oh, he knew how to fight; he had been a fair fencer and he had learned the art of the halberd as well. But he was never filled with the fire of war as his fellows were, and he was never eager to carry out executions. And here he was, drinking the blood of peasants so he could carry on fighting for a Count he now despised. He pushed the thoughts from his mind as he slowly opened the heavy door to the dungeon, and peered down into the moonlit pit.

"Hey bones, what mouldy rot have you brought us today, you worthless…oh, it's you."

Calmus stepped into the room, inspecting the sorry lot of his prisoners as they shrank back away from him. Nine poor souls, who he had captured on a short raid into Empire territory. He stood, shrouded in darkness, at the top of the stairs; watching the prisoners, half-lit by the moon.

"I am afraid that your usual jailor will not be visiting you tonight."

The only reply to his statement was terrified silence.

"Which one of you shall it be?"

Unsurprisingly, no volunteers stepped forward. At night, all the colors seemed to disappear; the washed-out walls, the washed-out chains, and the washed- out bodies of his prisoners. No eyes rose to greet him, all were shaded by heavy brows. Nothing moved.

"Come now, one of you."

No response.

He stepped forward, into the moonlight. Half of his face was illuminated in the hazy grey glow, but his black cloak devoured the color and remained a dull shadow. One woman in the back spoke up, in a whisper barely heard above the silence, "Can't we convince you to wait longer, like the last time?" The voice seemed to come from nowhere, nobody had so much as twitched an eyelash.

Calmus sighed heavily. "I wish I could wait. But, there are raiders headed this way. I am growing weaker. If I cannot hold them off, they will break in and kill you all regardless."

No response to that. Just the stillness of the room, the stillness of the moonlight, and the stillness of fear.

Calmus sighed again. "You know I'm being generous. I've held off as long as I can. Now, one of you, come with me."

The woman who had spoken slowly got up. It almost seemed a shock to Calmus, as if he was seeing small part of a portrait suddenly move of its own accord. She seemed to slither up from her crumpled position against the wall, any movement eerie in the still light after the long silence. And slowly, mechanically, she walked forward. Forward past the other prisoners, who dared not move themselves. A shadow walking past shadows.

Another whisper, heard past the footsteps. "Please." One of the shadows slumped against the wall had spoken; it was impossible to tell which one. "Please just one more day."

The footsteps stopped, the woman's figure hung limply in a slouch in the moonlight, her legs perfectly straight, and the rest of her slumped forward, as if her bones had settled against one another and they were the only thing keeping her upright. She awaited his response.

Calmus sighed in disgust. With himself, for keeping them here like this. But he knew he had no choice. He turned around slowly and ascended the stairs. "I'll be back tomorrow."

As he shut the heavy door behind him with a deafening thud, he cursed. He wanted no part of this.

As Calmus sighed to himself, he turned and put his foot on the stairs headed back up to his map room, but suddenly froze at a voice behind him saying, "Your brother Counts would not tolerate such impudence. In fact, they would drink the one begging for mercy first."

Calmus slowly turned around to face his wight lord, Galreh. "Perhaps I am mistaken, but I do not recall asking for your opinion, Galreh. Will you perchance leave matters of the prisoners to me?"

Galreh, being a wight, could not snort in derision, but the flicker of the fire in his eyes gave the same impression. "You can play the kind hearted captor all you like with the cattle, it's not my concern. But war _is_ my concern, and you are weakening yourself playing games with them. Those Chaos raiders aren't getting here any slower just because you want to pretend to be merciful."

Calmus scowled, but knew that the commander was right. "I take it you sent scouts?"

"Of course I did. I was informed yesterday about the raiders; I sent them out as soon as the sun set."

Calmus nodded. "Good. And I want you to ride out there yourself and mark locations for zombie pits and ambushes. I'll talk to Vuk'osh and see how many we can afford to have set up."

"We could have all the zombies we need if you would raise them yourself." The wight took a step forward. "If you were stronger. If you would use some more of your prisoners. It doesn't matter if the butcher asks the cows nicely which one would like to be chopped up."

"Dammnit, Galreh, that's enough! I gave you an order! Now get out there and scout those ambush points!"

Galreh performed an extremely shallow bow, and walked out. "Yes sir." He turned, and issued one final barb, "I would ask if you would care to accompany me, but I'm quite sure your bat form would be too strenuous for you in your weakened state. A peasant's life is certainly more important than overseeing your own defenses."

"Point taken, Galreh, just go and do as I say."

Calmus leaned against the wall and sighed. He knew Galresh was absolutely right, every victory he won to maintain his humanity was a loss to his powers. Ten years he had played this game…how much longer could he afford to?

Then, he heard two words, whispered from up beneath in the dungeon; "Thank you."

Startled, he realized that he had never ascended the stairs, and that his eavesdropping prisoners had heard every word through the grate in the door. Scowling, he went to go find Vuk'osh.

* * *

Vuk'osh had situated his lab at the topmost turret of the keep, and as Calmus trudged up the spiral stairs, he found himself hoping that the necromancer wasn't in one of his moods. He had been assigned the old wizard by von Carstien when he had first been turned; every Count had one to augment his defenses. They had a fair agreement; Calmus sent his minions out to gather reagents from time to time, and Vuk'osh helped defend the keep. But Vuk'osh was always buried in his laboratory and his notes, and they rarely ever spoke.

Calmus knocked on the door once he reached the top. "Vuk'osh?"

When no reply was made, he slowly opened the door and found Vuk'osh hunched over a dissection table, making small incisions into his latest undead construct. Knowing better than to interrupt him, Calmus simply repeated, "Vuk'osh", in a louder voice, and waited for the other man to respond. He kept his eyes steadily on the wall; he disliked the more morbid trinkets scattered about. He had almost gotten used to seeing this place, but every time he started to think about his situation, it made him more and more disgusted. And more and more fearful that one day he might lose his humanity and become what Vuk'osh was. After a good ten minutes, Vuk'osh stood, slowly turned around, and as if there had been no pause whatsoever, asked him ,"Yes?"

Calmus knew enough about Vuk'osh to get right to the point. "There are raiders on the way here. I have need of your services. The usual trap, please."

Vuk'osh swished his hand through the air in dismissal. "Bah. I'm far too busy for that sort of thing. Take care of a few pests yourself." He turned his gaze to the table, his eyes alight. "Look at this!"

Calmus came closer out of curiosity, and saw nothing but a pile of bones and meat laid out on the table. "What is it?"

"Ah, the unenlightened do not see what is before them. But this, THIS will make your raiders turn and run in fear."

Calmus surveyed the length of the table, silently agreeing. The table was a good 12 feet long, all of it covered in…parts.

"Well, I certainly appreciate your dedication, but I don't want these raiders to get far. I need that trap."

Vuk'osh sighed in exasperation. "I don't have the time to come deal with these trivialities!" He scanned his many wall hooks, finally seizing upon one and snatching a hanging medallion from it. He thrust it at Calmus impatiently; "This will give you what you need. It may only be used once. Now leave me be, I am busy."

Calmus knew when he had gotten as much as he was going to get out of his unbalanced comrade, so he quietly left the room, medallion in hand.

* * *

Calmus and Galreh sat hunched around the map table just before the dawn; the wraith scouts reporting in. They had brought back some surprising results.

"What?" Calmus queried, incredulous. "A village? Where?"

The wraith pointed to a spot just as the map started to fade out, within the mountains, near a pass that Calmus had never had the occasion to use.

"M'lord, we have never taken an interest in that place since…since long before…our present situation…" the wraith trailed off.

"Yes, yes, I know. Do you know why the villiage is there? It's up in the mountains with nothing around it as far as I know."

"There were wagons there, and a small lake. A water stop for traders that grew without our knowledge; it is barely inside our territory."

Galreh sat back his chair. "We can ignore it, to save for easy raiding, _if_ my lord will deign to feed himself", the disgust for Calmus' weakness clearly registering, "or we can turn it into a zombie pit, and lure the raiders there." He turned to the wraith scout, "And they have no defenses?"

"They likely have a small milita, sir, but no fortifications. No preparation for more trouble than wild animals or an occasional group of outlaws."

Galreh nodded. "It would seem that we have a boon on our hands. How shall we use it?"

Calmus looked thoughtfully down at the map. "Are the raiders going to use that mountain pass on their way here?"

The scout gave his best impression of a shrug. "It's hard to say, m'lord. The raiders are coming straight south from their homeland"; he pointed to the map, "and there is nothing in their way. The mountains and the village are several miles to the west, and they block the Empire lands. If the raiders decide to turn to the west to raid the empire? They would likely use the pass. However, if they had plans to raid the Empire, I doubt they would take this route. Most of their attacks on our lands come from the northeast, and most of their attacks on the empire come straight south from their lands. Chances are they wouldn't even look twice at it. Although, if one of the Chaos scouts follows that mountain road far enough, they might find it."

Calmus rubbed his chin thoughtfully, musing.

Galreh gave a long, drawn out sigh that rattled past his bones. "You are going to leave it there, aren't you?" He leapt to his feet and glared down at Calmus, "You FOOL! It has been ten years! Ten YEARS since you turned!" he grabbed Calmus' shirt and yanked him close, "You are not a soft hearted noble any more, you are a member of the Count's court! Start acting like it! He violently threw Calmus down, who did nothing to stop his second in command, for he knew all to well the words were true. "I have watched and waited for ten years as you have hid in this keep, trying to play at being human! I have waited for you to accept your fate. But here you sit, you only go and aid your brothers when you must, and you never visit the Court, pleading border trouble when none exists! Who do you think you are fooling? Not me, not those stupid cattle, and not your brothers! Only yourself!"

Calmus kept his head down the entire time. He knew he had nothing to say; he was tempted to simply dismiss Galreh and summon another wight lord, but that would not take the ring of truth from his words.

Calmus looked up at his seething officer. He sighed. He knew there was nothing for it; he didn't particularly want to do this, but sooner or later he was going to have to face up to it. "All right, Galreh. We'll try it your way."


	3. The Deal

Calmus walked into town, the villagers gawking at such royal robes. At the nobleman's entrance, they were surprised. When he entered on foot through a mountain pass, with no sign of a horse or carriage, quite late in the evening, they were suspicious.

"Good day, my fine fellows, might I inquire as to what monkier this charming hamlet has assumed?", was Calmus' introduction.

At the blank stares he received, he diplomatically rephrased his question, "What is the name of this fine town?"

After a moment, one of the peasants slowly replied to this strange new visitor, "This is a water stop that got too big for its britches, mister, it doesn't rightly have a name."

"Well, then, my good people, could you direct me to the mayor of this booming water stop?"

"I'm sorry, sir, we don't have a mayor here." Was the puzzled reply.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry to be taking up your time, but could you please fetch whoever is in charge here? I am afraid I am the harbinger of some rather grave news; I will be at the inn."

The peasant nodded and left, clearly confused but claiming he would bring an elder, and Calmus meandered over to the inn. He noticed along the way that the report had been right; a few hundred peasants, no real defenses, not even any real guard.

He nodded to the innkeeper, ordered a glass of the finest wine available, and sat down at an empty table. At this hour of the night, most of the hardworking peasants had already had their drinks and had gone to bed; the common room was deserted. He waited at the inn for about half an hour, sipping on his wine, until a few town elders arrived, some of them having been awoken from their night's sleep and none of them very happy at this new arrival.

The one who looked like he was most in charge identified himself as Lathan. "Folson here claims you have some bad news, stranger. And we aren't too used to seeing anyone of your standing come by here, certainly not without a caravan. Let's have it, it's rather late."

Calmus stood and bowed before them. "Greetings, I am Count Calmus. As you may or may not be aware, you have a small force of Chaos troops not far from where we now stand."

The council members looked uncomfortable, obviously this was not news to them, but rather something they wanted to go away. "Well stranger, we've seen them Chaos from our lookout. They don't know about this pass or this village, it looks to me like they're heading farther south, to that abandoned castle. We've seen em', and we don't worry too much about em'."

"Is that so? Calmus replied smoothly. "And what do you plan on doing if one of their scouts follows the road a little farther up these mountains than he should? You know there's no bartering with the Chaos."

The Council members squirmed a bit more. "Listen mister, we've been here near on ten years, and no Chaos has ever come up this way. No Chaos, no nobody else, except traders who we water here in the spring and summer. Now you comin here to warn us about the Chaos, or you comin here to make trouble?"

Calmus answered evenly, "Neither. I've come to offer you protection."

"Listen mister, we don't need no hired blades, and we can't afford none neither."

Calmus shrugged. "In that case, are you quite certain that none of your people are off the mountain? No one has gone hunting down below as of late?"

"Listen, mister-" the councilman was cut off as the innkeeper came over and spoke up,

"What's this about somebody being off the mountain?"

Calmus turned with an unnerving fluidity towards the new arrival. He was staring to annoy the council now, as he asked, "Is there?"

The innkeeper glanced sideways at Clamus, she clearly did not trust him. "What does it matter if there is?"

"_I_ couldn't possibly have any interest in who is on or off this mountain." He turned back to the councilmen, "But those chaos troops have a _very _active interest in such things. If they find one defenseless villager hunting in the forest down there, what do you think their very first reaction will be?"

He paused a moment to let that sink in. "They will find you. I ask again, is anyone off this mountain?"

The innkeeper looked nervous. "Well, I think old Millie Tanner's boys and some of their friends did go down..."

"Damnit!" Folson pounded his fist on the table. "We TOLD everyone to stay here! That's always what keeps us safe."

Calmus looked comically disappointed. "Well, my esteemed colleagues, it seems as though some children have disobeyed your otherwise insightful instructions."

He paused once again to let the situation sink in. The Councilmen were obviously considering the likelihood of the boys being caught, their village being found. Calmus waited just a moment, until he saw a few worried frowns begin to appear on the elderly faces around him. "I can find them, if they are still alive, but I warn you it will cost you dearly."

"Never mind the cost!" A council member spoke up form the back. "One of my boys is a friend of Harvey Tanner, he's probably one of the boys that snuck out on that hunting party. We can punish 'em when they return, for now I want 'em back safe! "

"He's right," another Councilman said "We need to get those boys back." A general murmur of agreement spread out through the elders gathered there.

Calmus nodded, stood, and bowed. "At your service, my good people."

The last Councilman who had spoken stood as well. "You can tell we are not warriors here, we thank you mightily for your help. We'll send some men with you who know the woods. They can show you and your men the game trails that the boys might be hunting."

"Thank you for the offer, but that won't be necessary," Calmus replied. With the same smooth fluidity that had startled the Council earlier, he turned towards the door.

As he walked out the door, one of the councilmen called out after him, "Hey, mister mercenary, what are you count OF anyway?", distrust and skepticism dripping from his words.

Without turning, Calmus answered him, "I am no mercenary, and I'm Count of that 'abandoned castle'."

With that he left.

As soon as he was out of sight, he summoned bats to scour the land. He grimaced in pain as he dredged up the last dregs of his powers to perform the feat, but it was done, and his scouts went whirling and screeching away into the night. Calmus mounted his skeletal horse and rode swiftly away down the trail.

Calmus trotted up to Galreh as he neared the bottom of the mountain pass. His second in command did not seem pleased. "You said you were to do things my way, why do you insist on toying with them?"

"Patience, Galreth, patience. If I am to maintain a thin veneer of honor in my dealings, what is that to you?"

"Some cloaks are so thin they do not merit their weight."

They waited for several minutes, staring into the empty sky and waiting. It was a cloudy night, and there were no stars.

At length, Calmus replied, "My brothers maintain such a thin cloak of nobility, I shall do the same." He paused as he received a mental signal from one of his bats. "I believe one of my pets has found them." He pointed. "There are several humans making quite a racket over that way. You know what to do."

Galreth's voice dripped sarcrasm, "Kill them so you can blame it on the chaos forces?"

"No. Take them alive. _Back here_. That's an order." As Galreth spurred his undead steed and faded into the shadows to grudgingly do his master's bidding, Calmus sat and waited. He could feel the numbness and the crawling ache building from lack of blood, but he would hold out as long as he could.

Which would not be long.

* * *

Harvey Tanner ran as fast as he could through the darkness, stumbling and tripping over roots and smashing into trees in his panicked flight. Tom had dropped the lantern as they ran, and he couldn't see a thing now. No moon, clouds in the sky…the night was dead black. His feet hit the ground again and again, he didn't even know where he was running, he just knew that his friends' bootfalls were right behind him, and that for all he knew he could be running back home or right back where they came. He just knew he needed to keep running, no matter how many branches smacked at his face. In the darkness, he suddenly fell down a gully, smashing his head, followed by the rest of him soundly on the rocks. He made to shout to his friends to watch for it, but before he could get up, he heard them crashing down as well. Four sets of moans…everyone was there. He made to get up, hobbling on his leg; his knee had twisted in the fall. Searching for some way up and out, all he saw was darkness. Darkness that would hide their attacker, but maybe darkness that would also hide them. He heard a bird or bat fly down from above the treetops, fluttering and screeching and circling about. "Everyone shut up." He whispered as loudly as he dared. "Don't even breathe. He won't find us here."

Everyone else either got the message or had the same idea, for they all fell silent, the screeching and flapping was all they could hear.

They waited and listened, not moving, barely breathing, only listening for their pursuer. They heard him getting closer, but they hoped the cover of darkness would hide them. Suddenly they heard creaking and clacking coming from the other direction; more footsteps, armored ones. No, not footsteps; hoofbeats. As this new mounted arrival approached, the bat fell silent, screeching away into the night. The new set of footsteps was obviously doing nothing to move silently; its armor creaking drowned out the silence around them. Suddenly, a voice,

"Foolish whelps. You aren't being tracked by a human; they can see in the dark."

The voice did nothing to hide either.

Harvey looked up, and whispered, "Who's there?" He saw nothing in the inky blackness of the night.

"Just stay down and keep silent. And if you run away from me, I will kill you."

One of his friends spoke up, "So will that beastman. What are you gonna do?"

They heard a frustrated sigh. "I'm going to kill the beastman, and take you home."

"What the hell? Why? Who are you?" Harvey's friend sounded incredulous, as if he suspected a trap.

The sigh again, deeper this time. "Because my master is a ridiculous fool. Now be silent."

A harsh light spilled over the area as the new arrival drew out a shining white blade, and took up a rigid combat stance. They could not see the new arrival's face under his helm; he was clad in full plate armor. But the designs on the armor did not look friendly, and the light from the sword was not an inviting one. It was not the shining pure light on a paladin's blade, rather the dull grey gleam of bone illuminated the scene.

They heard their attacker approach, hesitate, and step into the circle of light. They could not see very clearly, all they saw was a mass of fur in a human shape holding a large, two handed axe. Two yellow eyes glinted with malice, set deep in a deformed face. With a howl, the beastman charged, his axe raised up, for a sweeping downward blow. The armored figure moved one leg back a half step, and made to block with his sword. Before the blades connected, he stepped back a full length with his front foot, and twisted his sword out of the axe's path. With his opponent overbalanced, he brought his sword back up and around to pierce its chest. The beastman roared in pain, and backed out of the circle of light; the glow from the blade now dulled by blood. The armored warrior stabbed into the darkness, was parried, retreated; and the axe sliced out of the night and hit nothing but air. The sword arced up and over; the light shimmered and flickered as it sought its target; it illuminated the axe handle as it bit deep into the other's weapon; but the beastman twisted his grip on the shaft and shoved the butt of his weapon into his opponent's face. The visor went flying, the armored man reacted and pushed forward-

And the light went out, only a faint beam was seen as part of the blade stuck out the beastman's back. A final, gurgling roar was heard as the pursuer slumped over.

The five young men suddenly realized that the combat was over, and they had not moved. They heard their rescuer retrieve his visor, and as a he pulled his sword from his opponent's chest, he called to them. "Follow me. If you do not, you will die."

* * *

Calmus escorted the boys back into town, straight to the waiting council at the inn.

"Well, I seem to have found your lads."

"Harvey! We TOLD you not to –"

"Now, now, now." Calmus interrupted, "There will be plenty of time for scolding later. For now, we have serious business to discuss." He glanced around the inn. "ALONE, if you don't mind." He eyed the council as the boys left the inn and the few remaining patrons filed out; everyone present knew that they were not going to like what was coming. "That means you too, listening behind the door." Calmus yelled out in irritation. He heard cursing and shuffling of feet.

One of the members spoke up and pulled out a purse of gold. "Well, count, I suppose we owe you something for saving the boys…"

He trailed off as Calmus began laughing hysterically.

"For saving the boys?" Calmus managed when he had calmed down. "You, my good sir, are going to owe me much more than a pittance for that small act of kindness before the night is over."

The Council eyed him warily. They were beginning to question their decision to accept the stranger's aid, finding him more and more intimidating. More and more suspicious. What _had_ brought him here at such a vital hour?

The Count stared back at them for a moment. Then, in an excruciatingly casual tone, posed them a question: "Gentlemen, humor me by pondering this situation. Put yourselves in the place of a Chaos warlord down there. One of your scouts has not returned for the night. Some of your men reported hearing far-off sounds of fighting. You order more scouts sent out, as any reasonable commander would. His body is found, dead." Calmus paused. "You are hungry for blood as it is. Tell me, gentlemen, what would _you_ do in such a circumstance? What does the sudden appearance of this cadaver tell you?" he cocked his head, as if awaiting a reply.

"You needn't go on talkin' like that mister, we know them Chaos is gonna find us now."

"EXACTLY!" Calmus whirled to face the speaker. "You have been discovered, my dear people, and come the morrow, you will all be quite dead. There is no way that you can escape their army."

"And I suppose that you are a mercenary commander, and will extort every last valuable from every last person in this village to defend us with your own company who you left outside in the woods?"

Calmus sighed, and shook his head. For a moment, he genuinely looked disappointed. "No, I am no mercenary, though it would be better for you if that was indeed the case."

Calmus had succeeded in raising every Councilmember's suspicions now, and no one spoke after his cryptic remark.

With the Council obviously still waiting for an answer, Calmus decided to respond with a question. "Suppose, gentlemen, that you are that Chaos commander. Suppose that you have the body examined for marks of who would have done this? You do want to know your opponent after all. Suppose your warlocks inform you that those wounds are made by enchanted wight blades. What then would you surmise?"

The reference went completely unnoticed my most of the council, but one, an older one in the back, understood. "GET OUT OF HERE!" he yelled at Calmus as he stood. "Your kind isn't wanted here. We'll make no deal with the likes of you!"

Calmus smiled wanly, almost sympathetically, at the old man. "I am afraid, my dear people, that you have very little choice in the matter.

"What are you goin on about Clem? Who is he? What's this all about?"

Clem snarled, and pointed a crooked finger at Calmus as the council's eyes moved to him. "That man is a Count, he's one of the ones from the south. A vampire who will kill us all if we give him half a chance! Tell the rest of them what you are, you scum!"

The gaze shifted back to Calmus, who lowered his eyes and held his hands to his sides, palms out. "Guilty as charged." As they recoiled in shock, he brought his gaze back up and stared at them. "You can take your chances with the chaos, or with me. But I will tell you this; with them you have no chance. You will never be able to outrun them, not with the number of horses that I've seen. You will let a few women and children escape, and they could easily die on the road if they are attacked on the way back to Empire territory." He broke his speech to stare. "At least with me you will live."

"And what are your terms, liar?" Clem challenged him.

"My terms are simple. I will require…recruits. One new recruit a month. For my keep."

"You LAIR! You want blood!"

Calmus feigned an offended look. "Let's keep this civil, shall we? There's no need to use such…ugly words. 'Recruit' is a much better term." He paused. "A much better term than death by the beastmen's axe, I should think."

That last sentence seemed to strike a chord with the council, and Calmus pressed his advantage. "Why don't you ask those boys what it was that chased them? Hear the description for yourselves? I am certain it would be most helpful to you in your decision."

Clem rounded on his fellows. "Are you going to let him do this? Are you honestly going to sign our lives away one by one?" Clem turned to Calmus. "I knew your kind would come looking for us one day; I knew we were not far enough away from you. What I didn't know is that you would come in so slyly, taking advantage of us when we were in danger and have nowhere else to turn."

Calmus shrugged, "Put it that way if you like, it doesn't change the facts." He pointed to the northeast. "Die on your feet." Then to himself. "Or live on your knees." He locked eyes with each one of them in turn, including Clem. "Make your choice."

Clem glared at Clamus as first one, then another, then one by one the entire council rose and stood by their new count. They knew they were being forced into this. But they knew they had no other options as well.

"How do we know you will keep your word? That you don't demand more blood until we all perish?" Clem shouted, a last, final plea for the council to turn back.

Calmus replied, "If you know so much about us vampires, then you should know that most of my brethren wear an extremely thin veil of honor and dignity. I do my best to do the same." Here he smirked. "Our subjects would not trust us otherwise."

Clem slammed his fist on a table. "Dammnit, you fools! Don't you see what you're doing?"

"What else can we do?", one answered back. "Wait for the Chaos to come kill us?"

Clem narrowed his eyes. "We could run. Run back to the Empire. We could make it."

Calmus scoffed. "Yes, my esteemed opponent wants your entire village to escape on twenty horses and a handful of wagons. Next he will be suggesting that you all stand and fight."

He leaned forward. "Don't be a fool."

When Clem had no relpy, the Count looked around at his new subjects. "Any other concerns?"

No reply was made.

"Well then, if you fine people would care to have your village defended, I shall need to be in top condition. I shall need my first recruit now."

He waited.

"No volunteers? Ah, then in that case…" His eyes hardened as he addressed his new subjects. "Get out."

The room emptied very quickly, and Calmus was left alone with the one councilman who opposed him. "I must commend you, you are brave. Unfortunately, your bravery is misplaced. I'm the only hope you people have now."

Clem spit at him. "I'd rather die than serve you."

Calmus smirked. "Oh, you will."

Calmus saw Clem make a fidgety move, caught what he was about to do, and simply shook his head. "Don't even try it. I tried that same thing when I was turned, and look at me now."

Clem snarled as he dropped his knife. "Well, then, if you remember what it was like before you turned, why don't you remember the man you once were and do something noble for once?" Clem stalked up to him, now weaponless, and challenged him thus, "If you really do remember what it was to be human, then save us. Cover our escape with your powers, and then maybe I'll believe that you are still human in there."

Now it was Calmus' turn to shout, "DAMMNIT, you old fool! You have no idea why not! I can't, I'm starving!" At Clem's puzzled look, Calmus continued, "I have done _exactly_ that, I have kept the prisoners in my keep alive for months to avoid it. I am ridiculed by my second in command for being a soft fool, and my brothers ignore me. Have you starved yourself for months on end? And after all that, have you tried to defend _yourself_, much less someone else? No!"

Calmus glared down at him. "I have held off as long as I possibly can. If I don't feed soon, I will have no power left at all."

Clem stared up at him, a bit lost. "I don't know why, but I believe you." Clem looked a bit quizzical. "I know I shouldn't, but I do. There may still be some hope for you, if you speak truth."

Calmus looked away. "I don't think there is much hope. Ten years of starving myself, ten years of being lucky in war and being lucky at being overlooked by the Count because I'm on the border. It can't last. I have fought off raids before, fed when I needed to, and kept it down. But one day, a real army is going to show up at our borders. An orc Waagh? Ogres, or a real chaos force? Then I will be forced to lose control. No, there is not much hope for me."

He looked back down at the peasant. "And now I've reached my limit. I can't keep living this way."

Clem shook his head. "You're wrong, Count. If you want to hang on to your humanity, you'll need to keep doing what you have been doing."

Calmus snorted. "Until I die? No. I still have enough humanity to avoid my own death, as well. I'm afraid that one day, our conversation will need to come to an end."

Clem replied, "Are you honestly going to save this village? Are you sure you can do it?"

Calmus nodded. "The Chaos, despite their namesake, are a predictable force; at least this lot. Too bloodthirsty to pay heed to strategy or tactics. I have defeated them many times with my brothers, and this force is small; this time it will be no different."

Clem nodded. "I'm an old man, Calmus. Probably didn't have much longer anyway."

Calmus heaved a sigh. "Thank you for making this easier."

The council heard them talking for a little while, though they could not understand the words. Then they heard the scream.

Calmus came out shortly thereafter, but they could not make out the look on his face. He walked as if he were completely refreshed, with a quick step to his stride and a light bounce to his feet. But his face looked as if he was not particularly happy. "Bury him." Was Calmus' only command. "And…" he looked out in the direction of the chaos forces. "Find me two more recruits."

"WHAT?" a council man snapped. "Already? Clem was right about you!"

In response, Calmus slowly shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that's not the case. I won't be able to return here until tomorrow night. But the main Chaos camp is only a half-day's ride from here; they'll kill you before I can return from my keep."

"Well then what are you going to do?"

Calmus looked up to the heavy clouds overhead. "My it's a cloudy night."

When no further response was forthcoming, they asked, "Well?"

Calmus replied, "My kind can influence the weather. We cannot control it directly, but we can, perhaps, bring a storm. But bringing a storm is no easy task, I will need all my strength to accomplish this. Find more volunteers and prepare for a heavy rain later tonight. No matter how bloodthirsty those raiders are, they cannot run through thick mud. It will hold them off until I can return tomorrow night."

With that, their new count walked into the night, and they heard a bat's wings take flight to the south.

* * *

Galreh stalked up to the keep later that night, soaking wet from the rain. If he could, he would be scowling. He found his master waiting for him in the map room.

"Is everything prepared?" Calmus asked quietly as he sat looking over the map.

"Yes, master." Galreh growled. "Why did you waste all of your energy on the storm?"

"Why do you even ask me that? If I hadn't called this storm down, the Chaos would be through with that village before noon tomorrow. They aren't much use to me dead, and I can't very well defend them during the day."

Galreh slammed his fist on the table; "You said you were going to cease this foolishness! You could have taken all the prisoners you wanted, left the Chaos with a few left over to distract themselves with, and been gorged with blood before they arrived here! What is the matter with you?"

Calmus stared coldly back up at his second in command without leaving his seat. "Galreh, take a lesson from my brothers that you are so fond of mentioning. They let their villagers live normal lives until they feel like feeding. They do this not because they care for their subjects, but for the same reason a farmer does not kill all of his cattle at once; they need a constant supply of food. If I brought all those villagers back here and threw them in the dungeon, I would run out. I told you I will be taking regular prisoners from this village; what more do you want?"

Galreh leaned over the table, "You are not acting like your brothers. Your brothers keep their towns like a herd of cattle, and protect them like cattle. You are saving this town for the sake of saving the town. Such weakness will get you killed. And me."

"Galreh," Calmus addressed him quietly but sternly, "did you set the trap or not?"

"I already told you; it is done as you ordered."

"Good. Then I need my sleep for tomorrow. It is almost dawn, and I am going to bed."

As Calmus walked out, Galreh called after him, "You are a fool Calmus! Stop running from what you are!"

Calmus did make one detour on his way to his coffin. He opened the dungeon door with a creak, and waited for his nine prisoners to awaken. There was no moon this night, and the dungeon was pitch black. Calmus lit a torch, and it cast a flickering yellow light down into the pit.

"Listen, all of you. I have found a village that lies in the path of the Chaos raiders. I am going to defend it tomorrow night, and I will need my strength. If one of you volunteers, that's one less person in that village that I'll need to kill."

The prisoners were all shielding their eyes from the torch, disoriented after being awoken. One of them sneered. "So what if there is a village? Let it burn and maybe the Chaos will go home." The prisoner's eyes flashed an eerie red in the torchlight.

Calmus shook his head. "Don't be a fool. You know full well that the Chaos-"

"Let us out of here you damn monster!" he spat back, cutting Calmus off.

Silence reigned for a moment, the sputtering torch and the echos of the prisoner's futile scoff the only noises.

Another spoke, buried in shadow. "You're asking?"

Calmus replied. "Yes, I'm asking. Those villagers will need to put up volunteers because they are all dead otherwise. I'm asking if one of you will take their place. I know my limits and I know how much strength I'll need to win."

The nameless woman from before stepped forward, shuffling to the stairs in the flickering light. She looked haggard and drawn; fed for too long on four walls and a barred window. Calmus had his minions gather meat and berries from the forest; his prisoners had enough food. But her face was still drawn and hollow; she had been without freedom for too long.

"Dammnit, you scum!"

Calmus sighed back at his accuser. "At least she is dying with some honor. I can't say the same for you and your empty curses."

As he escorted her from the dungeon and shut the door, only silence reigned. They slowly plodded down the hall, their footsteps echoing off the empty stone walls. Along the way, he asked, "Some women like to have some pleasure before it's over."

"You're asking me?"

"I may be a vampire, but I'm not a barbarian."

"Then no, sir."

Calmus shrugged, disappointed. "As you wish."

Eventually they arrived outside. They were standing in what was once a garden, but was now simply a bare courtyard of dirt, with empty gazebos and empty paths. Not a single living thing remained; even the husks of the plants had long since blown or washed away with the wind and rain. "Smell some clean air before it's all over." Calmus suggested.

A bit lost for words, she walked over to a stone bench and sat down. She looked him hesitantly in the eyes, and whispered, "You are not like the others of your kind. Why is that?"

Calmus turned away from her gaze. "Some of us prefer to remember what it was like to be human. I don't know how much longer I can, but I try."

"There is hope for you, then."

Calmus chuckled, "That's the second time someone has told me that tonight. He didn't repeat it when I drank him dry, I'm afraid." He just stood there for a moment, and let her enjoy the clear night sky, the storm clouds spent and blown away. After a while, he asked, "Any last words?"

She shook her head, and got up. She went to him, and then twisted her head to the side. "Get it over with."

As he sank his fangs in for the kill, just before she fell, he heard the whispered words, "There is still hope for you." As the last of her blood passed his lips, the dark shadow passed by, leaving its chill wind in its wake; Calmus thought for a second he saw a wisp of spirit leave her body, only to be carried away by the new arrival. It only lasted a second, and then it passed and was gone.

Once it was over, he stood over the limp body, looking down with mixed satisfaction and regret. In the end, regret won out. He wordlessly beckoned his wraith servant to his side. "Bury her like the others."

"Yes, m'lord."


	4. Ambush!

It rained long and hard all night; lightening flashed and thunder roared. Everyone in the village bunkered down in their homes, while the news spread like wildfire that they were caught in no ordinary storm. When anyone asked the elders what was going on, the only answer they received was silence.

In the morning the lookouts could see the Chaos forces in the distance; through a spyglass they could see them mucking through their camp, everything seemed to be in disarray, and just watching they could almost hear them cursing. It wasn't until midday that the chaos forces had packed their camp to move, and even then, they crawled across the land with agonizing slowness, picking and slogging their way through the mud. They did not seem to be headed towards the pass; perhaps the body and the missing scout had been lost in the storm. As midafternoon came and went, the ground began to harden, and the chaos force picked up speed. So far the pass went unnoticed, as it had many a time before.

The Chaos stopped for the night not far away from the foothills, and the villagers could only watch and wait as they set up camp and the sun set.

Calmus arrived soon after the sun was comfortably below the horizon. He went immediately to meet with the council.

"Since you are all still alive, I take it my little diversion has held them off?"

"Yes it has, and it looks as if they may pass us by completely."

Calmus shook his head. "There's no chance of that, I'm afraid. One of my bat spies saw the commander inspecting the dead body of their scout in the camp; they found him before the rain came.

Calmus paused slightly as the council's raised hopes sank down. After giving them a moment, he continued,

"My bats have seen triple the number of scouts sent out. One of them will find this pass. You should be ready to hide."

"And just what do you plan on doing?" one of the council queried. "Heading into the main camp and killing the commander? No disrespect intended, but you don't seem to have an army of your own."

Calmus smiled a bit. "None taken; you shall see what I have planned. Prepare large fires and torches along the pass; I'm going to ambush them, and I will want them all coming at once."

"And," Calmus added, "Where is my volunteer?"

The council nervously shuffled about. They had obviously procrastinated on this particular point.

"Dammnit, you fools! Do you think I can defend this town on an empty stomach? I've already taken one of my own prisoners to spare you the need for two! Now I need a volunteer or I'll take one!"

One of the council nervously shuffled forward. He may or may not have been pushed by those behind him.

"Good. Come with me." Calmus led him into a side room.

Once they were inside, his victim asked, "Are you truly going to save us, sir?"

Calmus nodded. "Yes. I've fought them before and I know how much strength I'll need."

The nameless council member took a deep breath. "If my family lives, it will be worth it."

"They will." It was not spoken as a reassurance, but as a fact. Then his face and his voice softened. "Die knowing that you saved them." Was Calmus' advice before he did the poor man in, and the chill shadow flitted through the room, carrying with it a new passenger on the way out.

The rest of the council heard the screams. Calmus came out of the room, and simply said, "Bury him and set those fires. If they spread out it will make my job much harder." As an afterthought, he added, "And fortify the inn. If any of them get by me, you will need to lure them to the inn, and dispatch them yourselves."

With that, Calmus turned and left, and the council nervously went to carry out his commands.

* * *

It wasn't long before the scouts found the pass; it wasn't long after that they saw the fires higher up into the mountains along the narrow trail. Rushing back to the camp, they roused the whole force; and before midnight they were on the move. After slogging through the mud all day with nothing to show for it, the Chaos wanted the first taste of blood, no matter how exhausted they were. A small village, with no defenses? Easy prey after a long day. And a good start to their conquest. They did not hesitate.

Calmus watched them from his lookout point on the rocks above the village, his eyes piercing the darkness as easily as day. He was a bit nervous himself. Not for the battle; he was ready for that. But it would be all on his shoulders…he would need to sacrifice some of his control to win. He had to face the reality that he was not a human Count anymore with a human army at his command; he was now a vampire, and he had he alone would win or lose. He had Galreh and his squad to aid him, but even his wight lord's presence was just an extension of his power. Every time he faced this reality, it made him one bit less human. He took a deep breath, grabbed hold of the medallion that Vuk'osh had given him, and let himself go. It was time.

The town council looked nervously down the pass as they saw the Chaos approaching in the torchlight; the rest of the village was crowded into basements and hiding in nearby caves. They were moving up the mountain at a fast clip; nothing seemed to be hindering them. As the force approached earshot, and they could hear the chaos screaming for blood, they began to get nervous. "Calmus!" one of them shouted. "Where are you?"

No response. But, just as the Chaos rounded the final bend, something strange happened. It only lasted a moment, but the air along the pass seemed to blow away; the sounds of the approaching Chaos grew muted, and it seemed as if, for a moment, that their movements slowed. The strange twinge to the air was soon gone, and they were approaching again. Everything was just as before, but now the air between them looked different…perhaps a bit hazier somehow. The council heard a dull, muted sound. Listening harder, they could still hear it over the roar of the approaching force. It seemed….rhythmic, one sound repeated over and over. But it was so muted and distorted that they could not make out what it was. Just a dull, low sound. Nothing seemed to happen. As the Chaos rounded the bend, the council ran to the inn, knowing that something was afoot, but not prepared for what.

As the chaos began to charge, the sound got louder, and some in the first ranks tripped, stumbled, and fell. Cursing their comrades and shoving to get them out of the way, more of the beastmen began to loose their footing. And the sound grew louder, louder until the chaos themselves stopped their mad rush to listen for what it was, but it seemed to be coming from within their ranks; right next to them. As they stumbled to get up, the sound grew more distinct, still repeating every second, but now more distinct and more harsh; kaa..kaa..kaa..kaa. Now completely in disarray and watching for some hidden enemy, the chaos forces scanned the rocks around them, expecting an ambush. They were looking in the wrong direction. They all now lost their footing as the ground began to crumble underneath them and the monstrous sound grew louder: kii..kii..kii. Finally the entire section of the path gave way, and the chaos fell screaming into the pit, while a dead chorus hundreds deep chanted their macabre anthem so loud even the cringing villagers in their basements now heard clearly:

KILL..KILL..KILL..KILL..KILL

The beastmen were dragged screaming into the reaching crowd of zombies, hacking and slashing madly, slicing their fellows as much as their enemies in the crowded panic. Reaching hands pulled the beastmen down below to the zombies' feet, where an unfortunate demise awaited them; a hundred more hands, reaching up from below while the monotone knell of KILL..KILL..KILL..KILL rasped from hundreds of disused throats.

From his vantage point high up on the rocks, Calmus watched his enemies sink over their heads in zombies with blasé disinterest; he had used this trap so many times the novelty had worn off. And, unfortunately, he had not caught everyone. The main front had been caught; the rest were quickly backing away from the trap under the direction of what looked like the commander. He was dressed in a cloak of untanned, bloody hide, wielded a decrepit looking staff, and wore a cow's gutted skull on his head, still dripping blood and brains.

One of Nurgle's budding champions. Calmus spat. The Plaugebringer would advance no farther here.

He caught an explosion out of the corner of his eye, and looked down to see smoke rising from his zombie pit. Apparently one of the Chaos warlocks had been relatively quick on the draw. Another advantage of the pit, he mused silently; any explosive spells burned as many allies as enemies. As the chorus of KILL..KILL rose once again after the momentary interruption and the screams continued, Calmus looked back to the cloaked figure. It seemed to be rallying any who had not fallen into the pit into a defensive position. Calmus flicked his wrist, and a signal bat flew from its perch next to him. Galreh would be heading up as soon as he received the signal. Now for a diversion.

Calmus jumped lightly from his vantage point, landing effortlessly on the road before the pit. Just as effortlessly, he leapt over the pit in a single bound, and not breaking stride as he landed lightly, started towards the rallying Chaos forces.

They rushed at him, howling for blood as their comrades fought on in the pit below. Inwardly, Calmus cringed.

He had been in wars before, as a human noble. He had drawn his sword against his foes, fought hard, stood by his men, and stood exhausted as they won the day. His mind drifted back quickly to a battle scene much like this one;

* * *

Calmus held his sword in a battle position, nervously fingering the hilt. He felt the weight of his armor, the weight of his command bore down on his shoulders even more. He glanced at his men uneasily; he wanted to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but on the front lines. But it was his duty. His men looked unconcerned; eager for a fight and battle ready. Most of them wore the same eager grin; they wanted blood and glory. Calmus wore a dour frown, he wanted none of it.

The enemy lines were upon them.

He had his sword.

He had his training.

He had the experience.

He faced down the charging infantry. Each and every one of them had chosen to be here this day.

'I am not a murderer.' He repeated to himself. The thought began.. 'I fight for my life and my honor. They chose to be here…'

"AND WE CHOOSE VICTORY! FOR VON CARSTIEN!", he finished the thought as a scream, a scream that was echoed by his troops. "Charge!"

He leapt at his first opponent; a thrust, a cheap feint. Parried. A counterattack. Back away. A slash, double feint. Too much for the untrained solider. Through the chest. Next. A stray strike off his armor, and Calmus followed through into an unprotected throat. Grimacing as blood spewed, he whirled around to face his next opponent. Steel clashed on steel, Calmus shifted the leverage on his blade and rammed his sword through his opponent's guard. The parry came far too late; the blade was already buried. Never meet their eyes. On and on they came, in waves. These poor fools didn't have much armor; made his job easier but their lives shorter. As they came at him with the same strokes of the blade, the same attacks, the same feints, he could almost see the training drill they had all done. That was all they knew; and to Calmus it was simplistic. And, the whole time, he never looked them in the face. Again and again, over and over, until his opponent broke and fled, he looked up and down the lines, and saw the opposing army was doing the same.

"Fall back!" he yelled. "Let them run."

As the opposing force fled into the forest, Calmus hung his head and wearily inspected his troops. Minimal losses. "Good", he sighed heavily. He shouted for his second in command to come to his side. "We aren't done here." Calmus looked into the sky and saw the sun. Plenty of time. "Bury them all." At his commander's incredulous look, he added, "That's an order. And when we are done here, send the men to the tavern. Tell them the bill shall be sent to the keep." As his second **n** command went off to give orders, Calmus surveyed the battleground. A small battle really; a thousand men on each side. But plenty of dead to go along. Calmus turned away from the scene with a heavy heart, and went to the supply train to grab a shovel. What was it all for? Plenty of widows and orphans had been made, and for what? So some damn Empire bastard could make a play at expanding his territory. Calmus sneered. All that needed to be done was for everyone to stay on their own damn side of the border line. Then he sighed. At least he did.

* * *

Calmus snapped out of his reverie and saw the remaining beastmen gathering around their captain. He shook his head. Combat was not like that anymore.

"A few zombies in a hole and you grind to a halt?" he taunted them. He spoke in the trader tongue that the beastmen were most likely to understand "Where is the fury of the Chaos? Where is your unbridled rage?" He spared a glance back into the pit, where most of the Chaos who had not fallen prey to the zombies had fallen prey to the warlock's explosion. A small force of them had formed a circle, but was being rapidly overwhelmed. Calmus laughed contemptuously. "You see these humans? They keep on slaughtering you like pigs even after they are dead." He glanced back. "Pathetic." He spat at them, and turned around. "You aren't even worth my time. Go back to your pens, beasts."

Before he had turned his back, he had seen the Nurgle commander unsuccessfully attempt to keep them in check; it knew Calmus was setting up for a trap, but it was no use. He heard the beastmen roaring after him as he began to stroll around the edge of the pit, back towards the village and away from them. He did not even glance back, but waited calmly as he walked. They were forced to pursue him single file, as the space between the edge of the pit and the solid rock of the mountainside was narrow. Calmus waited until the foremost was almost on top of him; then struck.

Calmus whirled around low, dodging the axe swing and driving his fist into the beastman's gut. With a mighty shove of his legs, he overbalanced his opponent, sending him tumbling into the pit just as another explosion billowed up from inside. From his crouch, he pounced at his next victim, moving with inhuman speed to breach his opponent's guard and sink his teeth in for the kill.

The blood of the beastman had a harsh, bitter taste, but it was food. He could _feel_ the power course down his throat, down into his stomach, and like a shot of strong drink, surge out to the rest of him. The pale shadow appeared. Calmus flexed his now claw-like fingers as he drained his opponent dry, and –

Felt a searing pain as cold steel slid into his stomach. The pale shadow paused, almost as if it was wondering if would need to take Calmus too, then decided it would not need to after all, and slid away into the night.

Clamus narrowed his eyes. The next beastman in line had taken the opportunity to stab right through his dead comrade. Now pinned against his victim as the beastman tried to shove the blade in harder, Calmus tried to back away off of the blade. Grimacing against the pain, he lost his footing, and fell off into the zombie pit, the hapless beastman still gripping his sword. They fell for a few seconds, Calmus trying to wrench himself free; feeling more of his powers fading by the minute as the blade remained in his belly. Calmus hit the ground first, on his back, the dead weight of the two beastmen driving the sword clean out his back and into the hard earth. Pinned down, he scowled. Not going quite as he had planned. He shot a hand up to grip the throat of his attacker, and connected fully. A simple twist later, and he found himself alone in his section of the pit, surrounded by the walking dead. Clamus dragged the now dead beastman's body around, and drank him dry as well, the pale shadow making a return visit. That accomplished, he wrenched his hand around to grasp the pendant that allowed him to control the zombies. But, as he directed them to free him, he suddenly found something very disturbing. He focused his mind, and his vision changed to one of his undead lackeys.

Some of the beastmen in the pit were surprisingly still alive; most of them had been dragged to their doom, but a few had formed a back to back ring, and they had a warlock setting off explosions in the ranks. Not many, but enough berserk beastmen to give his zombies a real fight. He then saw something he was quite unprepared for; beastmen were jumping _into_ the pit the get at the zombies. "Are they insane?" Calmus whispered to himself as he watched more beastmen jump down to aid their brothers and enter the bloodbath. He saw something even more disturbing; his fall into the pit had been noticed; and the circle of beastmen was now moving his way. The zombie Calmus was looking through was cut down as a beastman jumped from the top and slashed it down with a mighty axe blow. As he regained his vision, Calmus scowled at his predicament. He knew he was in trouble if these beastmen fought their way over to him and he was still trapped, with the sword driven into the earth. Sighing, he admitted to himself that he had underestimated them; they were far more bloodthirsty than he had given them credit for. What they did not know were the basics of how this trap was set.

Calmus fingered the medallion again, preparing for a long dig. He remembered one of Vuk-osh's rambling speeches. "Nobody really thinks about this; but a teleport spell doesn't transport one thing to another location; it switches the locations of two things. Normally, that's just the air. But, with one of these traps, the dirt needs to end up somewhere." Calmus grimaced, and reversed the teleport.

Every zombie, standing or not, vanished, teleported back to his keep. The beastmen did not have time to ponder this new development before they were all buried alive, down to the last one. Grudgingly, Calmus twisted his arms around, slowly, painfully digging a small hole through the loosely packed dirt, small enough for him to reach the sword blade sticking out of his back, just below his breathless lungs. He dug another small hole under his back, just enough to lower himself off of the sword blade. He then dragged himself through the dirt around the two dead beastman, and proceeded with his painfully slow ascent to the surface.

* * *

Galreh saw the signal bat, and turned to his wight riders. "Our master has diverted them. We move silently until they notice us." As he spoke, clouds appeared around the undead horses' feet, rising to encompass their entire bodies. "Choose your target well. At my command, we strike. The leader is mine." At that, Galreh turned forward once more, and the ghostly riders vanished silently into the night.

Calmus dragged himself up and up; clawing his way through the earth. "You damn fool." he thought to himself. "Get too caught up in the battle, and you just had to take a drink. I hope Galreh has things under control."

The wight riders approached silently, their ethereal form giving no trace of their passage, and the dark of night hiding them just as well. The Nurgle commander was there, seemingly confused, surrounded by a handful of beastmen, spread out in an arc to the front. They were not counting on a rear attack; they had just ascended a narrow mountain pass. As they took up their posts behind their targets, one of the beastmen, on instinct, turned around. He howled a warning. Galreh's silent command echoed in the heads of his soldiers,

"Strike."

Galreh's shining blade left its sheath as a hazy white cloud, meandering lazily behind his hand. As it traveled along it took on more form, more dimension, more clarity. With each passing moment, each inch it sliced through the air, the blade became sharper and more distinct. As it touched the bloody hide of its target, it was still not fully formed. As it began to cut in deeper, it began to solidify. Halfway into the cut, the blade was fully formed again, and as it came out the other side, slime and mucus spewed onto Galreh's armor, now very solid. The cloak fell to the ground, sliced cleanly in two, and out poured a tide of very angry, very slimy Nurglings.

If he could have, Galreh would have spat in disgust. The twice cursed spawn of Nurgle always had a little parting gift to leave when they were killed. He looked to his right; the surprise attack had worked, all of the beastmen had been stabbed cleanly through. He looked to his left; not enough riders had taken the left side; and they were being surrounded. Galreh spurred his horse to the fighting, and mentally ordered the forces on the right to clean up the Nurglings.

* * *

A hand broke the soil, reaching high into the firelight. Calmus strained to reach up higher; he was exhausted from dragging himself through the cold earth. Stopping a moment to rest, he tried to listen for the sounds of battle or screaming villagers with his head still below ground. Nothing. He made to heave a bit higher, then his strength gave out; the beastman's blade through his stomach had drained him; he stopped to rest again. After a while, he felt a strong grip on his hand; and pulled; he broke the surface of the earth to find Galreh helping him up. Calmus coughed out the dirt that had been ground into his breathless lungs during the long ascent, and queried, "I take it you had no trouble with our friend over there?"

Galreh glanced back to the large puddle of slime. "No trouble."

"Good." Calmus looked around; no rogue beastmen were still in the area. "Scour the pass for runaways; I want them dead."

"Right away." Galreh seemed to have a tinge of amusement, or perhaps approval, in his voice. "You sound more like a real commander now."

Calmus sighed. "I suppose so. Now find them and…" Calmus lost his train of thought. "And take the rest of the night off."

Galreh chuckled and mounted his nightmare steed, vanishing with his riders into the night.

Calmus stood up, and wiped the dirt from his clothes as best he could. One more piece of business to attend to. As he strode up to the inn, he was in no mood to deal with anyone, still berating himself for his foolishness.

He found the town council holed up in the inn as he had directed them, with a few blunderbusses pointed at the door. They had a few axes and swords between them; some even had pitchforks.

When Calmus knocked politely, they knew he had come to collect. They were not, however, expecting to find a large pile of dirt standing there.

"What happened to you?" one of the council asked incredulously.

"Looks as if you lost." Another one of them joked, relived that the threat was gone.

"That's none of your concern." Calmus snapped, irritated once more with himself now that he had ruined his grand entrance. Drawing himself up higher, and narrowing his eyes, he snarled back. "I'm in no mood for your tripe. I have held up my end of the bargain. I have fed on enough beastman blood for now, but in thirty days, if I do not have a recruit at my keep, I am coming for _several_ of you."

"But, sir-" one of them spoke up, "We don't rightly know where your keep is. We know it's to the south, but…"

Another spoke, "And what if the recruit should be lost on the way? Wolves and such."

Calmus snarled, more at himself for another blunder than at them. Of course they had never been to the keep. "Transportation will be provided." He snapped back curtly. "Good night, gentlemen." With that, he stalked out and flew away.


	5. The Questing Knight

**AN: Thanks, Ciaran for the review! **

Several months later…

The council head, Lathan, held out a fistful of straws. He wore a dour look on his face, making it clear that he did not relish his job.

With a quivering hand, one of the villagers reached for a straw. Not one of the villagers even looked as they pulled it out, simply whipping it into their hand swiftly and bidding the next to take their turn. Around and around it went, each villager taking a straw until only one was left.

"All right, show em."

Maggie glanced nervously at the waiting Black Coach; it sat there brooding in the sun, its driver sagging heavily, completely hidden under the weight of a thick cloak. The coach had once been a regal thing; it had fine cloth drapes hanging from the windows, ornate lantern racks, and a filigreed iron step. Its owner had not bothered to decorate it with skulls and bats, but it was dingy and dirty from disuse. Like her…

Maggie looked down at her hand, which had once been fitted with rings, and was now caked in dirt. The coach resembled her mightily, she decided.

"Come on Maggie, you too."

Maggie grudgingly opened her hand to find a long straw. Dodged that one.

She glanced around to see who had drawn the unlucky straw. Nobody was fessing up as of yet. Lathan sighed deeply. "I know it's an ugly business, but we don't have much choice. Now…" he held up his own straw, clearly a long one, "Let's see who it is…" he meandered from person to person, taking his time. Finally, he stopped at a young woman, and opened her hand for her.

"I'm sorry…"

"NO!" she screamed, threw her straw down, and backed away. "I won't DO it! You can't force me on there! You can't! I have CHILDREN! They're still young!"

"I'm sorry", he repeated. "We all had to draw. We all had a fair, even chance. One of us has to go, and you're it."

She fell on her knees, "No…" she pleaded, "Please, it's not my time…I have a family…" at that, she broke down and cried. The villagers began to move forward and circle around her, but nobody stepped forth to drag her into the coach. The coach's driver, hidden by this thick cloak, made no move.

Maggie stood in the back, cringing. She couldn't stand that woman's crying. She turned around and started to leave, and snarling at the sudden guilty twinge in the back of her mind.

"That woman's never done anything for me!" Maggie snarled inwardly. "It was a fair chance. I drew just like she did. Let her die for the rest of us."

The guilty feeling did not seem impressed.

"If it was me who had drawn it, she wouldn't stand up for me. She would do just like I'm doing, run off and wait for that damn coach to leave." Maggie countered.

_But she is not you._ The feeling seemed to reply.

"So what if she does have children? That's none of my affair."

_Isn't it? You know those children have no father. She is here for the same reasons as you. Just like you._

At that, Maggie looked down at her hands. She could see them as they had been, she could see things as they had been…

Maggie knew that the girl was in the same boat that she was. Didn't belong here. No family. And nowhere else to go. Certainly someone in the village would take the children in, but…

Maggie sneered again. "Not my affair."

_Someone else could have said that to you. But they didn't, did they? That's the only reason you escaped to this town in the first place._

"That someone else wasn't risking their life!"

_Weren't they? If they were discovered sheltering you, they could have been involved. The question now is, would you risk it? _

Maggie looked back at the crying woman and the crowd, reluctant to carry out their deed, but slowly moving forward with it just the same.

"No. I wouldn't. Why should I?"

_Someone risked their life for your mother, sometime or other. Is that still no concern of yours? _

After a minute of anguished fuming, she snapped aloud; "Alright fine!", though nobody was near enough to hear it.

Turning quickly before she changed her mind, she stalked back to the waiting circle of people. A few of them were grabbing the woman's arms and hesitantly dragging her with them towards the waiting coach.

"NeverMIND!", she snapped at all of them, drawing some startled looks. "I'll bloody go. Now leave her be." The villagers immediately dropped her, and Maggie climbed into the coach, yanking open the door and slamming it shut. "And stop that damn crying!" she yelled out the window. "I can't bloody stand it."

The woman did as she was told, and looked up. Through tearful eyes, she sobbed one grateful question; "Why?"

Maggie shrugged noncommittally. "Go back to your little ones."

Turning forward, she commanded in a voice laced with mockery, "The castle please, driver."

The sobbing woman ran off in relief after that, and nobody moved to stop her.

The empty cloak in the driver's seat did not move nor speak, but the nightmare steeds galloped off, leaving the woman sobbing in relief. Lathan let out a long sigh. "Brave girl, that one." He paused. "All right everyone, that's all. Go on about your business. Everything's over here."

Nobody challenged his command, nor did they look back at the rapidly vanishing coach.

* * *

Inside the coach, Maggie berated herself. "You bloody fool! One poor bloody wench sobs in your face and you have to melt into a puddle! I'll end up dead for this!"

_If you were in her place, you would be grateful._

"But I'm not!" she cut herself off angrily. "I won't be in anyone's place! I'll be DEAD!"

A different voice spoke, above the clattering of the coach, "That was an honorable thing you did, miss."

She had to gather herself for a moment before she realized it had been the driver. She leaned up to the speaking window and sneered back. "Go fap off and save it for a knight. I don't a buy all that death before dishonor claptrap."

"Strange. It seems you just did, miss."

"Just drive ya scumbag!" she yelled and slammed the window shut. She tried the door, but found it locked. The windows too, would not break. Fuming, she sat to await her demise.

It was evening once they reached the keep. The driver, who turned out to be the wraith, discarded his cloak and helped her down from the carriage.

She snapped her arm away, "I don't need any help from a ruddy ghost, thank you very much."

"As you wish, m'lady."

She eyed the open courtyard and contemplated making a run for it, but the wraith beckoned with his hand, and the gates creaked closed. Scowling, she had little choice but to follow him.

He led her through dark corridors and halls, until he arrived at a wooden door. He knocked.

"Come in."

Calmus turned from the map he was examining with Galreh and saw his wraith standing in the door.

"Our new guest has arrived, m'lord."

Calmus waved his hand in dismissal. "I'm busy now, and I don't need him quite yet. Throw him in the dungeon with the rest."

"Hey!"

Maggie shoved her way past the wraith and into the map room. "You damn vampires are supposed to be polite. How about showin some respect?"

Calmus glanced in amusement at this new arrival. "Well, well, well, we have been graced with a lady at the castle. He turned to her and performed a shallow mock bow.

"How nice. I am afraid that I do not require the service that you were detained for at this present moment, but you will be so kind as to pass the time until a more opportune occasion arises."

Turing to his wraith, he exclaimed, with aggravating sincerity, "Please be so kind as to escort the lady to her private quarters. I am sure she will find them most agreeable for her very _short_ stay."

He bowed again, and then turned back to his map. Maggie, knowing she was dismissed, snarled inwardly but followed her guide out of the room and down a hall. "I don't suppose I do get my own quarters?" she asked hopefully.

Her ghostly companion opened a heavy door and shoved her in. "Afraid not, m'lady."

She looked down and saw three of her fellow villagers and three human dirt piles.

"Welcome to the Count's court." One of them remarked dryly.

* * *

Several weeks later….

Jerell rode into a secluded mountain village with the evening sun. He had had a long ride from the Empire border, and he was certainly ready to stop. He rode in, bid everyone a good day, and headed for the inn. In his shining armor, specially bred white charger, and conspicuous sword, he was every bit the picture of a questing knight, out in search of glory and honor. He was seeking out something worth of his first quest, and finding nothing in the vast cities of the Empire, he had decided to try his luck in the rural borderlands to the east.

Dismounting from his horse, he walked into the inn and immediately noticed that something was wrong. At first he could not put his finger on it, but as he examined the room more, he saw what he was looking for.

The window sills were damaged, as if they had been hurriedly boarded up, and then the boards taken down. The door had been reinforced hurriedly, far more than any inn door should have been. And, as he looked closely, two holes had been bored into either side of the door. That was an old Empire trick; if anyone started assaulting the door, stick a scatter gun through the hole and let loose. But, with two holes…what had these people been preparing for? There was no evidence of fighting that he could see, but as far as he could tell these innovations were recent. The inn was mostly empty in the middle of the afternoon, so he sat down and waited for the innkeeper to come. Once she did, he stood and bowed. "Good day, madam. I am passing through, and I was wondering how much it would cost me for a room, and if you could point me in the direction of some supplies, if you wouldn't mind."

She seemed to be looking very hesitantly at his armor, as if she wanted to say something but was restraining herself. "Well, you can certainly stock up on supplies, but –" she seemed to be looking for words. "I take it you're one of the Bretonnian knights?"

He bowed again. "At your service."

She wrung her hands. "As far as the cost of a room goes, sir, I think the elders will pay it for you if you will speak with them. We have a…well, an…issue around here."

She looked again at his weary face. "Perhaps you could speak with them in morning."

* * *

Jerrell looked at the council in disbelief one they had finished their tale. "So, he drove the beastmen off, and you've been offering him human sacrifices ever since?"

"We don't have much choice!", a councilman exclaimed.

"I don't understand, why don't you just leave?"

The council looked incredulous. "He has spies. Bats. Things that lurk in the shadows. If he knew we had run…what do you think he would do to us?" The councilman drew a finger across his throat.

"Well, if you can't fight him, why don't you send for help from the Empire?"

"Because we are outside the borders. We are all from the Empire, but we aren't under anyone's jurisdiction. Nobody is going to come save a village from a vampire for no reward." Jerell sneered. He had always hated that about the Empire; every man for himself.

Jerell rose. "Well, then, my good sirs, point me in the right direction. I shall end this menace or die trying." He bowed, "It is my duty as a knight of Bretonnia."

The council looked relived. "But, if he ever learns that we sent you…"

Jerell waved his hand. "Worry not, my good people. I simply rode into this town and learned of your plight from one of the townsfolk." He smiled reassuringly. "I never even spoke with you."

With that, he left the inn and rode off south into the forest.

* * *

"Trouble, sir."

"What's that?" Calmus looked up groggily from his coffin; it was still broad daylight, and he didn't feel much like being awake.

"A knight, headed this way."

"Really?" Calmus looked bleary but interested. "What does he look like?", he inquired of his wraith.

"Well, sir, I'm sure he looks impressive enough to the peasants, and he does seem a bit older, but to anyone who's seen any battle, he looks green."

"How green?"

"Galreh thinks he barely got out of his training, m'lord. Judging by the markings on his armor, this is just his beginning quest; he hasn't been in many battles, if any."

Calmus looked disappointed, and stumbled to his feet. "Well, then, let's get rid of him."

* * *

Jerell rode up the dilapidated castle, ready for an ambush. He was a bit surprised to find the main gate wide open, and the front door wide open as well. A wraith stood well into the shadowed doorstep, his ghostly, ethereal form well hidden from the light of the evening sun, and addressed him as he approached. "The Count will see you now."

"The Count will see you dead!" Jerell roared, and spurred his horse in to a gallop. As he approached, the wraith slipped backwards into the wall, disappearing completely. Snarling, Jerell dismounted and entered, looking around and ready for anything. He trod through the main hall unopposed until he reached the throne room doors. Flinging them open, he saw a lone figure seated across the room in a simple grey stone throne. The room was otherwise empty, shrouded in shadow with only the light from the doors.

"Greetings, knight. Although I must say your entrance was rather rude."

"Save your talk." Jerell shouted. "You will no longer terrorize the people of that villiage!"

"Terrorize?" Jerell could not make out the expression on the figure's face in the deep shadows, but his voice sounded amused. "I made a perfectly honest deal with them. They were about to be killed. I offered to save them, for a high price. I am simply collecting."

"You are lying! You set those beastmen up!"

Calmus laughed. "No, I'm afraid I didn't. You should ask the villagers; the beastmen attack was quite real. Surely you have never known vampires to associate with the Chaos?" The figure shrugged, a slow, jerky movement. "Some nobles kill their recruits in battle. I kill mine myself. What is the difference, in the end?" Under the heavy coat, Jerell could still not make out the face.

Jerell scowled. "Even if you are telling the truth, you are still a murderer. You will die for what you have done."

Without further introduction he drew his shining white sword and charged across the room putting all of his energy into his momentum. He knew then if he could swing fast enough, at the right time, he could overpower any parry the vampire would set up.

Something in the back of his mind told him that things weren't right. This was too easy. But, there he was, in front of him. The figure moved to put up its hands, as if to ward off the blow. Jerell recalled of how a vampire could catch a sword in mid-swing, and swung all the harder, hoping the break his opponent's guard. With a mighty yell he swung his shining blade-

And clove a zombie cleanly in two, his sword clanging heavily off the stone back of the throne.

Too late, he heard a whispered voice in his ear:

"Fool."

Without time to recover, Jerell found his helmet ripped from his head, and his head slammed into the very solid stone of the throne. Dazed, he lost his grip on his sword, and staggered to his knees. As he felt his head slammed once more into the stone, he nearly blacked out, but he somehow managed to stay in the waking world.

Clamus kicked the sword away, its glow making strange, whirling patterns of shadow on the wall as it skittered across the floor.

"Ah, the knights of Bretonnia," Calmus mused, seemingly lost in thought. He began to pace around the room as the knight struggled to regain his composure and his senses.

"Champions of virtue, they are called", he continued on. "Bravery, honor, dignity, compassion, charity, valor." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Knights of Bretonnia are champions of many virtues. But," here he stopped behind the still dazed knight, "there is one virtue they apparently have forgotten." Calmus stepped back lightly as Jerell took a wild, clumsy swing at him. "The virtue of humility is quite lost on Bretonnians. Part of that virtue is knowing your own limits, and discerning when bravery and valor become blind, idiotic blundering." Jerell made to get up, then stumbled and fell flat as his vision spun around inside his head. "Part of that virtue is not sauntering defenseless into the lion's den because your cause is just, as if justice itself will carry the day for you."

Galreh stepped into the room then, his eyes alight with distaste for the knight. "Stop toying with him and be done with it!"

Calmus gasped in mock surprise as he turned to the wight. "Be done with it? My dear fellow, I do have some boundaries that I will not cross. I am not a complete monster." He turned back to the knight, who was beginning to regain his composure. "I do not, for instance, kill silly children who unwittingly stumble into my abode. Would you kill a small child while they are playing with a wooden sword, as if they were a threat?" Calmus shook his head in mock reprimand at his wight lord. "Come now, Galreh, we don't engage in that sort of behavior." Galreh glared in frustration as Calmus narrowed his eyes and now addressed the fallen knight, his voice keeping the same tone of admonition; "Now, run along and play somewhere else; we have important, grown-up things to do."

With that, Calmus turned on his heel and left the room

"Come, Galreh. There is nothing more of interest here."

Galreh growled but reluctantly followed.

Jerell gathered himself shakily from the floor, and began to stumble towards the doors, unsure of what had just happened. His vision was still swimming, and he still could not steady himself; he was floundering over the hall like a drunk.

"Your sword and helm, sir."

As Jerell turned to face the source of the voice, his vision swam and he felt almost sick. He saw the wraith standing there by his glowing blade, the light from the sword playing eerily off the ghost's cloudy form.

Still in a daze, he stumbled over, retrieved his gear, and wobbled out the doors.

Once he had cleared the gates, he sat down against a dead tree and waited for his head to clear. He lost consciousness then, and he knew not how long he slept. Once he awoke, he could see that the sun was going down. After a moment he felt solid again, and his vision had cleared. He thought back to the one-sided fight and could only remember his opponent's words; "Part of that virtue is not sauntering defenseless into the lion's den because your cause is just, as if justice itself will carry the day for you."

He sat there in the lengthening shadows for a long time. He knew he couldn't win this fight, but he knew he needed to do whatever he had to protect the villagers. He could bargain.

He remembered the villagers saying that the coach had been driven by an undead who had to hide from the sun, and that meant that Calmus had no living subjects. It was all he had to offer. He stood back up, resolving himself for what had to be done.

Jerell stepped hesitantly back into the keep. He found the wraith waiting, staring at him quizzically from the lengthening shadows.

"Certainly you aren't here to challenge the Count again," was the wraith's greeting.

Jerell shook his head. "No, I'm not. I have a proposal for him."

The wraith shrugged. "It's your head. Follow me."

* * *

"A visitor for you, m'lord."

Jerell could hear an exasperated sigh from the other side of the door. "Again? My, my this place is popular these days."

The Count emerged. "Yes? What can I do for you?" he sarcastically queried.

Jerell got right to the point. "I know that I can't defeat you. You've shown me that. So, I have another offer. What do I need to do for you to get you to stop taking the villagers?"

Calmus laughed. "You certainly are a tenacious one. What makes you think you have anything to offer me?"

"Perhaps…you need a human agent who can move about freely in the daylight. You can't, not without a heavy cloak, and your minions cannot either."

Calmus stared at him appraisingly for a moment. "If I was in the market for a human agent, I would most certainly select one that was not so foolish as yourself." He paused a moment to consider. "Also, does not your Bretonnian honor prohibit you from aiding one such as myself?"

"My Bretonnian honor demands that I do whatever is in my power to protect those villiagers."

Calmus chuckled. "If I were in the market for a human agent, I certainly would select one who cannot rationalize his loyalties away at the drop of a hat. Nevertheless, your offer intrigues me. I am a Count, after all."

Calmus drew himself up a little higher; "Do you pledge loyalty to me and me alone, on your honor, that you will abandon your loyalty to your former Bretonnian lord?"

Jerell stiffened. "As long as you swear, on your honor, that you will protect the village and stop taking them for food."

Clamus nodded. "It will be as you say. As long as you are in my service, I will demand no more sacrifices."

Jerell bowed. "Then, you are my new master, count…?"

"Calmus."

Calmus looked down quizzically at his new addition. This could be amusing.

"Now, first, one thing disturbs me about you, ….?"

"Jerell, mlord."

"Yes, Jerell. One thing disturbs me about you. You were very quick to abandon your honor and your Brettonnian loyalty, because you put saving the villagers above all."

"Yes, I suppose so. Honor demands that I put the lives of the peasants above my own."

"I am concerned that you will similarly rationalize away your newfound loyalty to me, should the opportunity present itself."

"You won't need to worry about that, m'lord.", Jerell replied, seething within himself but remembering his honor. "I won't betray you."

Calmus smiled. It was a thin, sinister smile, that had not crossed his lips often, but was beginning to come more as of late. He wordlessly beckoned with his hand. Jerell looked shocked as a wight blade tore into the thin armor just below his breastplate and above his belt, the shimmering white steel poking out below his armor in front, making a macabre pink glow as the red mixed with the white, the blood pooling eerily into the twisted runes before spilling over the edge of the blade.

"No." Calmus, replied with a smirk. "You won't."


	6. A New Uniform

Jerell awoke, immediately feeling that something was not right. Before he even opened his eyes, something was…wrong. He could feel it. Once he opened his eyes, he found himself alone in a room, somewhere in the keep. He started to look around his room, and noticed that something was wrong with his eyes, all of the colors seemed washed out; even the grey of the stone seemed blanched and dim. Yet, he could see clearly even though there was no light. He moved his arm to get himself into a sitting position, and heard unnatural creaking and rattling. Was he chained? He looked down, and saw he was still clad in his full armor. He could see no chains. The feeling that something was wrong grew terribly, and as he struggled to get up, he felt a burning sensation near his chest. Looking to his chest, his armor seemed whole. No pain from his stomach where he had been stabbed. He tried to force a gloved hand inside of his breastplate so he could see what the matter was, but nothing wanted to budge. As he was trying to wrench his breastplate away from his chest, he yanked on the chain holding his grail trinket, and it flew out, landing with a clatter on the outside of his armor. Immediately the burning ceased. Knowing the truth but unwilling to face what had obviously happened, he simply stared at the wall for a moment, completely lost.

"NOO!" he cried, "Not this!"

He yanked off his helmet to feel for a pulse, knowing the awful truth. As he yanked off his glove, he was surprised to find only bone. Looking down in horror at his armor, he saw it was now inscribed with skulls and bones. The hilt of his sword was now twisted into a horned skull, and he saw that part of the blade was out of the sheath; it no longer glowed with a warm, pure light, but now with a cold, pale illumination. It was now covered, from point to hilt, in twisted, sinister runes.

He had not been turned to a vampire.

He had been raised back as a wight.

* * *

Jerell stumbled into the hallway, holding on to one thought; he was saving the villagers this way. He would find a way through this. As he began wandering the halls, he saw the wraith. Not quite knowing what to say, he called out, "You there! Are you the same wraith from before?"

"I am."

"Well… tell…"

What was his name? Jerell wracked his mind from the previous encounter. Calmus, that was it.

"Tell Calmus that I'm awake, and I want to speak with him."

The wraith bowed. "Yes, m'lord."

Jerell followed his guide through the stone halls, watching the errie way his legs creaked and stammered along, and becoming more and more unnerved by the minute.

"You'll need to learn how to walk in your new form", the wraith spoke back at him, his tone unreadable. They continued on in silence for a little while longer, up stairs and through halls filled with broken windows looking out on the moonlit courtyard, and eventually reached a door through which muffled conversation could be heard. From the sound of it, one of the participants was becoming flustered.

"Now that you are one of us, you need not rest on much formality", the wraith said, and simply pushed the door open. They found Calmus in conversation with another man, and he broke off his sentence and turned to greet them.

"Ah, yes, come in. Jerell, this is Vuk'osh, our resident necromancer. Vuko'sh, this is Jerell, our newest wight."

Vuk'osh did not even spare Jerell a glance. "Calmus, I need those parts! I can't work if I don't have materials!"

"Yes, yes, yes, perhaps Jerell here will fetch them for you, if you are nice to him."

"Dammnit, Calmus! My work here must progress!"

Calmus glared down at his subject. "Your work on your pet project will progress when I say it progresses. And I say it progresses when I have some Fel Bats at the ready, do I make myself clear?"

Vukosh snarled at him, but skulked away to do his Count's bidding. Calmus turned back to Jerell. "Now, ah, yes, Jerell. As you may have noticed, you are wearing your new uniform. The reason for this change is simple. If I get even the _suspicion_ that you will betray me, I will promptly dismiss you, causing your bones to crumble and our little agreement about the villagers to become null and void. Do I make myself clear?"

Jerell slowly nodded his now fleshless head. "Yes, mi'lord."

"Now." Calmus snapped, "I have a job for you. More of a test. Do you remember that you found Galreh and I in conversation yesterday?" Without waiting for a response, he continued, "We were discussing a battle plan. One of my brothers to the east has an ogre infestation. He is otherwise disposed at the moment. Actually the worthless sod is in the central Court, amusing himself at the harem, but his second in command has contacted me for help. My squad of wights is going to remove the ogres and report back here. You will accompany them. You leave tomorrow at dusk. Your new friend," here Calmus gestured to the wraith, "will tell you anything else that you need to know. You are dismissed."

Jerell somehow remembered to bow, turned, and hurried out of the room. His ghostly companion followed suit.

As they walked back along the hall, Jerell asked the wraith, "So, do you have a name?"

"I did."

"What was it?"

"I don't go by that name anymore."

"Well, I can't just call you 'wraith', you must have some name."

"I had one." Was the only response Jerell received.

Suddenly, Jerell felt very, very alone. As he trudged along the corridor, he bitterly reflected that he had prepared himself for death before entering the keep; he had not prepared himself to rise again as undead into a hostile court. The mission he was assigned was nothing new; he had gone on similar runs in the last stages of his training. At least he could handle that, and it would distract him from the reality at hand. But suddenly he found himself not looking forward to the intervening day.

"Is there…anyone else here?", he asked awkwardly.

"Myself, the troop of wights, Galreh, who killed you, Calmus, who is our master, and Vuk'osh, his necromancer. We are all that inhabit this place." After a slight pause, he added, "If you do not consider the prisoners."

"Prisoners?"

"Yes, Calmus took several prisoners before he found the village, and he still has several villagers that he has not fed upon yet."

Immediately Jerell saw some light. "I want to see them."

The nameless wraith gave him a sidelong glance with his half-turned skull. "You know the penalty for helping them escape."

"Yes, yes, I know, I just…want to talk to someone human right now."

The wraith nodded. "Understandable. This way."

* * *

The door creaked open, and Jerell slowly stepped inside the moonlit dungeon. The prisoners all looked up at him, seeing that he was somehow different than Galreh, but still puzzled.

The wraith silently slipped outside.

"Well, what do you want? Come to take another one of us?"

"Umm, I…."suddenly Jerell found that he had very little to say to his fellows. He looked down at the prisoners; most were thin, ragged, and broken looking, though a few still had remnants of proper attire; some new arrivals. They were all looking at him expectantly, either waiting for him to bring food or take one of them. Awkwardly, he blurted, "I was a Bretonnian knight, I came here to kill Calmus, and look where I ended up now. He killed me and turned me into a wight."

After a moment of stunned silence, one of the prisoners snorted. "So stab him in the back when he ain't lookin, don't come crying to us about it. What are you here for, then anyway?"

A different voice spoke up. "He's probably here because he's just been turned into a bloody wight, ya thick lout." The speaker stood. "And he could be feelin a mite low." She was the one wearing the best looking clothing, so she must have been the most recent arrival. She looked down at the other spiteful prisoner and shook her head before turning back to Jerell. "Hi there, I'm Maggie. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Jerell nodded gratefully. "Thank you. I don't quite know what I'm going to do now, but I did manage to make a deal with him. If I serve him, he will stop taking sacrifices from the villiage."

Maggie snored in disbelief. "How on earth did you manage that?"

Jerell moved down the stairs and sat down on the bottom step to discuss things, and all the prisoners, even the vicious one, sat round to listen to this new development.

* * *

Galreh stared at Calmus. "That fool is coming on the ogre mission?"

"Yes, Galreh. That is correct."

"Why? You know he will betray you at the first opportunity. I still don't understand why you brought him back at all. You certainly don't need him."

"_Need _him? Of course not. But, what I do need is some amusement around here. He is going to provide that."

"Hire a jester then." Galreh sneered. "He's trouble."

"Bah." Calmus waved his hand. "He won't betray me. He wouldn't risk his precious villagers. But, seeing how you handle him will be amusing. Don't bother killing him; I'll just bring him back. You can't spoil my fun quite that easily."

Galreh snarled under his helmet.

"Come now, Galreh. You can feed your undead soul off of parries, thrusts, and battle cries, but surely you must realize that some of us need more subtle amusements."

"Yes, the more empty-headed ones." Galreh mumbled under his breath.

"What was that, Glareh?"

"Nothing, milord."

At that, Calmus looked out the window. "It's getting late; I think I shall retire for the next few days; if I am going to stop taking prisoners, I'll need to save my strength."

"WHAT?" Glareh's tone shot the word like an arrow. "You aren't going to hold to that _ridiculous_ deal?"

Calmus looked at Galreh with a strange glance. As if he were explaining something to a man that would normally be explained to a child. "Honor, Galreh, is what makes us different from the Chaos or some group of thugs. It has its price, but without it, we become mere slaves to our own whims. If we do not control ourselves, we will become no better than those ogres you are going to kill."

Galreh did not look impressed.

Calmus continued; "Sometimes that control costs us. But, if we do not maintain our honor, where will that lead? What will we lose?"

"Your head," was Galreh's reply.

Calmus waved his hand in dismissal. "Not from that fool knight, I assure you. Now see to it that preparations are made for tomorrow's departure."

Galreh, however, could not let the point pass. "He's no real knight, you saw that. He's a peasant who found a suit of armor, that doesn't give him the right to have honor. Besides, he is human and we are undead. There is no honor between you and him."

Calmus nodded. "Ah, that is true, but any time two people make a contract, there is honor between them, no matter what their status. While I was alive, could I have demanded anything I wanted of any of my subjects? Could I have taken their land and homes for my own? Of course I could have, but not with honor. Even between a ruler and his lowly, dirt-grubbing vassals, there is honor."

As Galreh shook his head in disagreement and left the room, Calmus went down to his coffin. As he walked down the stairs to escape the rising sun's harsh gaze, a nagging thought overtook him. Honor. He was losing more and more of it; he had fed on most of his prisoners; and he was having a harder and harder time lately remembering just what his honor meant. A part of him insisted that he had to honor this deal, but… that part of him was losing ground as of late. Things had been different since the battle with the beastmen. He had given up his mercy towards his prisoners and had started feeding whenever he felt the need. That brought so much more power...he could feel it in his veins. He had used most of it on more Fel Bats and scouts for the time being, but still…it was there. Waiting only to be taken. He had been seeing more of Vuk'osk, and was preparing to find some abandoned graveyards to fortify his keep with zombies.

And, what was it all for? He had been looking over some maps of territory to the west…Empire territory. More food, more dealing with Vuk'osh…more troops. Galreh was ever on his back...to wage war. That would require more food…and more power. An incursion into the Empire lands...yes, just a small one. That would make his brothers in the Court impressed. Perhaps Galreh would be more respectful of him. And, it would be a good test of his newfound strength. Calmus looked at his hand, saw the power that had been building there ever since he had begun feeding more often. The only thing holding him back was his foolish pact with Jerell, which he could, of course, break at any time, if he was prepared to bend his foolish honor…He was hungry now, the Fel Bats...perhaps it was time to follow Galreh's wishes in this as well, dispose of Jerell, and make ready for a test of his newfound strength.

Calmus shook his head at that. He never would have been thinking this way before. He would need to start feeding again. As he closed the lid on his coffin, he asked himself; where was the honor in that?

* * *

Jerell sat and listened intently to the prisoner's stories. The three older prisoners had a much different story to tell than the newer ones.

"I tell you, he wasn't always like this. He waited for months and months, it's hard to keep track of time in here, but it was always a long wait before he came and took one of us. He fed us proper, too. Made his damn wraith go out and get us deer from the forest. It all changed a few months ago. We heard that damn wight captain hammering on him for being so weak, and I guess it got to him. Once he started taking the prisoners, he started eating them more often, only waiting when he knew he would need a few at a time. Like now, I suppose. And, there's been more activity. That necromancer has been around the halls more as of late, we can hear him muttering to himself. And now we can go days at a time without food, the wraith is always out on assignment. He's changed, and I think it's that damn wight."

Jerell nodded, sitting back and thinking. He was not normally a thoughtful person, but he was beginning to see what was taking shape. He had seen the same thing in a peasant conscript once. This particular peasant did not want to fight, he had been drafted into the battle. But, he didn't want to be killed for insubordination either. So, he followed his orders, but did it in such a lackluster way, and cut so many corners, and endured so many beatings for it, that the commanders, who could find no excuse to execute him, threw him out in disgust. This Calmus was like that peasant, but apparently things were starting to wear on him, and he was beginning to start fighting as he was supposed to. Calmus' battle that he did not want to fight was accepting that he was a vampire. If Jerell was to figure this man out, he would have to start thinking like that peasant.

He also saw what Glareh was up to; it was the same story he had seen countless times in the Brettonian Court; a harsh commander trying to bully a soft, disinterested prince into combat so he could win glory and victory.

Jerell contemplated this, trying to make heads or tails of Calmus, but finding nothing. He needed to know more. He shook his head, stood, and he told his fellow prisoners; "Now that I've heard what you've said, I think I have more of a handle on this Calmus…but I need more…and I'll need to think on it."

"Any chance you could get us out of here?"

Jerell shook his head. "I'm afraid not. The only thing that keeping him from taking more prisoners is my service. I still don't know why he accepted me in the first place…" Jerell shrugged. "In any case, if I help you escape, he will kill me and go raid the village. That wouldn't do anybody any good."

The other prisoners grumbled among themselves, seeing this chance at escape fly past them, but they knew Jerell was right. As he stood to leave, Maggie called back to him, "You'll think of something."

Jerell turned back. If he hadn't been a wight, he would have thought her pretty. "Thank you." Was all he said before he shut the door.

He wandered the halls, not knowing quite what to do, but knowing that his only hope of making things right was to somehow get Calmus away from Galreh, and find out more about what was making him resist his nature in the first place. But, he could see the sky lighting up outside, and instinctively he knew he needed to find a dark place. As the sky grew brighter and brighter, he felt more and more weak and sluggish.

He wandered the halls until he found his wraith guide, and questioned him.

"You have much to learn about your new form,"was the reply. "You no longer need to eat or sleep, but you should rest during the day, as the sunlight drains your strength. Your armor will block most of it out, but you should still find a dark area during the day."

Jerell nodded, "Anything else I should know?"

"You will need to learn a new fighting style. You cannot move as quickly as you once could, but you will feel no pain from blows and you will not be stunned from strikes to the head. Also, that blade", he pointed, "Is no ordinary sword. It is far more deadly, and will cause the very life of your opponent to drain away."

"What else?"

"Do not cross Galreh, he dislikes you as it stands."

"Why? He has other wights. Because I am a Brettonian?"

"No. Because your deal with Calmus has unbalanced his efforts."

Suddenly Jerell knew he was on to something. "Efforts? What efforts?"

At this, the wight turned away. "Do not cross him."

His companion faded into a wall before Jerell could question him further.

And, once again, Jerell found himself alone. Shrugging, he went to explore his new abode. And find some way out of this mess.

* * *

Early the next evening, an unfamiliar wight came to find Jerell. He was in the courtyard, doing some basic combat drills and getting used to his new form.

"You the new recruit?"

"That's me.", Jerell replied, sheathing his blade and turning to the new arrival.

"Come with me. We move tonight."

Familiar enough with those orders, at least, Jerell sheathed his sword and followed his new comrade.

He followed the wight out to the stables, where just over a dozen others waited in front, already mounted on skeletal chargers, the bone gleaming in the moonlight.

Galreh looked at him coldly, but said nothing. After a silent moment, he simply said, "Let's move."

Jerell looked quizzically at the mounted troop of knights. "Um, sir? I don't have a horse." He replied awkwardly.

Galreh stared down at him with a gaze of ice, but remembering Calmus' words, he grudgingly dismounted and walked inside the stables. He returned with another skeletal mount. "Now get on that."

Jerell did as he was instructed.

"_Now_ let's move."

Jerell found that, eerily, his mount apparently thought it was still alive, responding to the reins, but it could not feel the spur of his boots.

One of the others coldly informed him, "Snap the reins like a wagon driver; it will move."

They rode all night, it seemed that only Galreh knew the way. As the moon rose and set above them, they rode on silently; not a word passed between them as their tireless steeds galloped along. Before the sky began to lighten, Galreh steered them off the road. "One of the bats found a cave this way, there's no other shelter that we can reach tonight.", was his simple explanation.

They found the cave uninhabited, except by some small animals, and they were safely within its depths before dawn arose. To Jerell it was an unnatural sight; he was used to joking and laughing and griping with his comrades, this silent ride and even more silent rest was a far cry from what he was used to. He dared not speak for fear of bringing Galreh's wrath down upon him, he knew that all the wight lord needed or wanted right now was an excuse to get rid of him. They rested silently within all day, Jerell feverishly wondering just what had happened to him to put him in a spot like this.


	7. Ogres!

Their 'rest' was not like sleep as Jerell was used to it; it was more like being half-awake. They found the back of the cave, sat down, and simply began to rest. Jerell simply lost his focus, and found himself floating, as if he were just waking up but still very groggy. He could not tell how long he 'slept' this way, but eventually one of the others shook his shoulder wordlessly, and the doze was gone immediately; he was instantly awake. They continued their long ride to the east, still wordless.

Finally, Galreh spotted a signal bat, and motioned for the rest of the group to follow. They followed the bat for perhaps a half hour, until they arrived at a small camp, where a young looking vampire sat, next to a fire, brooding in the moonlight. When he heard Galreh and his wights approach, he eagerly stood up and bowed to greet them. "Hail", he said simply. "I take it you are help that Calmus sent me?"

"We are." was Galreh's curt response.

The young Count sighed in relief. "It certainly is good to hear from you. My master is...away, and if I know him, he will stay that way for a good long while. And these ogres, well...I am inexperienced in such matters.", he finished diplomatically. "My name is Ricard, and I thank Calmus many times over for sending this aid."

Galreh snorted. "Calmus knows your master, and he knows you needed the help. Did you bring any of your own troops?"

Ricard shook his head. "The necromancer will not listen to me, I'm terribly sorry-" Galreh cut him off with a derisive laugh**.** "I know all too well how those worthless necromancers can be. If only they would stay locked up in their towers forever, and simply give the rest of us what we want and let us get down to business."

Their new companion smiled a bit at that, before responding. "I did manage to raise up a few undead wolves, however. And I could help as well."

Galreh nodded. "Don't bother helping, you'd be a liability. But those wolves will make a good distraction; let me scout the area and I'll tell you where to send them."

Galreh turned to his troops. "Search the area. Do not let yourselves be spotted." As they wheeled their horses about and rode off, Jerell turned to one of his new comrades. "What does he mean, 'search the area?' who goes where? Aren't we divided up somehow?"

The wraith stared at him uncomprehendingly, then simply stated, "Follow me."

As their horses trotted along, the other riders never in sight, Jerell began to feel strangely, as if the surroundings were familiar, though he knew he had never seen them. He also had a distinct feeling that his comrades were to their left, although he heard and saw nothing.

"Do you feel it now? We can tell where the others have been. It is one of many new things that you will learn."

Jerell nodded.

After a small pause, the other replied, "We have never had a new member. The Count is growing more bold. He is changing." With that cryptic remark, the wight rode off into the night, leaving Jerell to use his newfound powers to finish his job alone.

* * *

Jerell stalked up to the enemy camp as silently as he could, his armor left behind. He had been on a scouting run before, and he used all of the tricks he knew; move slowly and silently, stay low to the ground, and most of all, drag your feet softly to avoid breaking twigs. He could hear the ogres long before he reached them; snoring loudly and yelling

in their own tongue. He cautiously looked out from behind a tree and found them gathered around a large bonfire of uprooted trees, with a few crude tents stretched out. There seemed to be about thirty.

He mentally took down who seemed to be the leader, what his markings were, and then slipped silently away to report back, grabbing his armor satchel on the way. He was certain he had scouted where the others had not yet seen.

Jerell followed his new sense back to a nearby clearing, where the others were already waiting. They all stared at him oddly as he approached. Jerell, puzzled, asked them what the matter was.

Galreh obviously could not convey any facial expressions, but his tone of voice asked Jerell if he was just stupid or if it was a joke. "Where is your armor?"

Jerell replied back, slowly and matter of factly, that he had removed it in order to move silently, so that he could get closer to the camp without being heard. He noticed that none of the other riders had touched their armor. Galreh seemed to be deciding whether or not this infraction was a good enough excuse to rid himself of his unwanted recruit, when another rider stepped in, his horse trotting forward a bit. Reaching under his breastplate, he pulled out a medallion. "Do you have one of these, soldier?"

Jerell took one look at the cold crystal sphere and truthfully replied, "I've never seen one before."

The intervening rider replied; "We use these to turn ethereal. You'll need to get one from Vuk'osh when we return."

Jerell was now thoroughly disturbed at the sight before him. He had just committed a trainee's blunder, and where he was from, he was about to be laughed out of the forest, and the mocking would not stop for at least a month. If he were one of the riders, he would have joined right in, giving the new recruit hell until some one else slipped up or they got bored. But, the circle of riders who faced him was eerily silent, as if they didn't care one way or another that he had blundered this way. To Jerell, ridiculing people in his situation was how groups of people became crews, and to be simply stared at was a little frightening. Not only because they were wights, but because the only people he could count on viewed him as nothing.

Galreh, sitting atop his undead charger and staring down and the green fool before him, was in no mood to be trifled with. This worthless little upstart that the Count had raised for his 'amusement' was proving tiresome, causing the Count to revert to his old soft ways, he could see it already. Any excuse to get rid of him quickly and quietly, away from the castle no less, was not something to be passed by. Doing something as idiotic as he had just done could possibly pass for an excuse, but unfortunately, as his rider had so damnably pointed out, the fool had no talisman in the first place, much less the knowledge of how to use it. If he killed the troublemaker now, for such a tiny infraction, and Calmus interrogated the riders...there could be trouble. Scowling, Galreh realized that he would need to wait and hope the pest died in the battle. And that he could distract Calmus enough so that he forgot to raise him again.

Rather than dispose of Jerell, Galreh simply replied, "You have a lot to learn, we'll see if you learn it before an ogre crushes your thick skull." Galreh sneered. "I doubt it. Now get that damn armor back on, unless you have some other clever human tactic that I don't know about." Not even waiting for Jerell's response or his late scouting report, he addressed the rest of the riders, "We know the camp is completely open. No defenses, and half of them are asleep. Few guards. You three will move on ahead and take out the guards behind the tents. Silently. Once they are gone, we all move in and take the sleeping ones.

One of you will find our vampire friend with his wolves. As soon as we've finished with the tents, release the wolves. When the ogres are distracted with the dogs, we will strike from behind. If two or more turn on you, turn ethereal and run. If the leader turns on you, run. We won't kill them all in this round, but we need to inflict as many casualties as we can. Once we've done the damage, we run. We'll regroup and continue to pick at them until the sun comes up. Any one of you thick skulls not understand that?"

Jerell, who was trying his best to listen as he hauled his armor back on, saw the rest of the group move out as if he didn't exist. "What about me?", he called back.

Galreh turned back to him with a wicked glare. "Change of plan. You are going to be with the wolves. _In combat._"

* * *

Jerell glanced at his vampiric companion, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one. He had met Ricard back at his small camp, and saw that he had brought about two dozen wolves. Hardly enough to take on a force of ogres.

"Now let me get this straight." Ricard questioned Jerell, "We wait for the main force to take out the guards by the tents, then they sneak in and kill the sleeping ogres, then when you get the signal, we release the hounds, and they will act as bait so the main force can get a second sneak attack while the rest of the ogres are attacking the wolves?"

Jerell nodded. "That's it. Once the wolves are dead, the main force will flee as soon as the ogres turn on them, and they will keep hit and run strikes up until the sun rises." Jerell shrugged. "If they aren't all dead by then, we'll keep at it tomorrow night."

Jerell looked back towards the ogre camp as Ricard rubbed his chin and wandered away, pondering the situation. It wasn't far away, and he couldn't see it through the trees, but the ogres were bellowing and shouting at each other as they tore into the night's kill over their huge bonfire; and Jerell doubted that the silent kills would fail with such a row going on.

Jerell cursed inwardly; how was he going to stay alive through this? Well, 'alive' wasn't quite the right word, he reflected bitterly, but how was he going to stay in one piece? He was supposed to be fighting with the wolves, and when things got rough, everyone but him would turn ethereal and run, leaving him to be killed. Which was exactly what Galreh wanted, though Jerell still had no concrete idea why.

Jerell looked through the night with his new night vision as though it were day, contemplating any chance he had at survival. His gaze drifted back to the distant glow of the ogre camp, with its bright bonfire, and suddenly he had an idea. He glanced back over to Ricard, who was staring into his own small campfire, and said, "Actually, there is a way you can help. It is risky, but it will help us out."

Ricard huffed in indignation. "Anything to get these wretched creatures off of this land!", he replied.

"Good." Said Jerell, with a bit of relief in his voice. "Can you turn into a bat?"

Ricard nodded. "I most assuredly can."

"Well, then this is what I need you to do..."

* * *

The wolves charged in, silent and deadly, their black coats not showing until they jumped to the throat of the first ogre guard. He went down with a great bellow and thrashed to fight the surprise attack, but the press of two dozen wolves had been too much, and he toppled over with a great shout, alerting the rest of the camp to trouble. They gripped their clubs in glee; they had been getting bored.

As the pack of wolves howled an eerie, gritty, hollow howl from their rotten throats and rushed forward to claim their next victim, the ogres abandoned their fire to crush this new enemy; a fatal mistake. The last ogre to leave the fire was still drunk from his crude ogre ale, he never saw the huge bat soar out of the night sky behind him. He barely even felt it land on his armored back. By the time he moved his hand back to brush away the itch, it was too late; the vampire had taken his fatal bite.

The ogre reeled in confusion, and Ricard knew he had to aim perfectly. He swiftly switched forms and leapt backwards off of his reeling victim, and thrusting with his wings, he smashed right into the ogre's face. Clutching at his eyes, the creature toppled backwards.

Right into the fire. It thrashed to escape, but it had lost too much blood, too much strength to right itself, and all it succeeded in doing was scattering the logs before it died along with the only source of light.

The fire died just as the ogres met the rush of wolves. Suddenly caught in darkness, the ogres flailed madly, blindly sweeping their clubs across the ground to find their enemies. Sometimes the clubs hit their mark, and a wolf was sent flying, only to hit the ground several yards away as an unmoving pile of bones and rotten flesh. But while the ogres were blind, the wolves could see in the dark, and found their mark more often than not.

Then, Jerell joined the battle. Sliding out from behind a tree, Jerell stalked up on one of the blindly swinging ogres, and planted his sword straight through its spine. The creature toppled, and Jerell sliced at its throat, easily dodging its blind swing. If they had had light, the ogres would have been formidable opponents. Blinded as they were, they were simple to kill. They did not form a circle, nor did they stand against trees to guard their backs; they simply bellowed and swung blindly in their anger. Jerell leapt for another one, planting his sword into the creature's back. The ogre's arm swung back with its crude club, but Jerell was too close against the ogre's back for it to reach before it succumbed to the death magic imbued in the blade.

Jerell wrenched the sword free, and turned.

He had dispatched three alone, to Ricard's one and the wolves' four, before Galreh and his riders showed up from the tents. With the entire squad, they made short work of the ogre force. With a third of the ogres already down, and almost a third having been asleep in the tents, it was a paltry task to vanquish the remaining ten ogres.

After the last ogre had fallen, Jerell stepped up to Galreh, performed his best salute, and said, "We are through here, sir."

Galreh looked down at him and seethed. This fool had been resourceful. And now...Galreh glanced back at his troops. He had no excuse to kill the boy. That little trick with the fire had admittedly been impressive.

"You take a lot of risks." Galreh snarled. "One day they won't pay off."

Ricard swooped in to the crowd, followed by about half of his wolves. "I say! That was a jolly good fight! I even still have half of my wolves left! You can be sure that when my master gets back, I shall inform him of your splendid work, and a reward for Calmus shall be in order!"

"Think nothing of it", Galreh politely grimaced. The last thing Calmus needed was contact with the drunken sot whose lands they had just defended. "We are always here to offer our service when your master is... indisposed. We thank you for the opportunity to help a fellow Count."

With that, Galreh motioned his riders, and they galloped off into the night, the vampire's thanks trailing behind them.

* * *

They reached the cave just before daybreak. It was still mostly unoccupied. Galreh demanded, "See to it that our package is not disturbed by any animals in the cave."

"What package, sir?"Jerell inquired.

"When you need to know something, soldier, I'll damn well tell you!" Galreh snapped.

Jerell backed away from that, going off to find a place to rest in the cave far from Galreh.

He was startled when another of the riders approached him: "It's some ogre parts that Vuk'osh wanted." the informant explained.

"Why tell me this? No one has spoken to me since this whole thing started. Tell me what's going on!" Jerell asked in surprise.

"It hasn't been easy for us, you know.", was his only reply.

"What do you mean?"

"I'd rather not say. Try asking the wraith." With that cryptic remark, his informant vanished into the depths of the cave, leaving Jerell to silently sit and rest, determined to question the wraith once they returned.


	8. Reagent Run

Once they returned to the keep late the next night, everyone disembarked, leaving their horses in the stables, sealed tightly away from the harsh light of day that was soon to come. Galreh took the bundle containing the ogre parts and stalked into the keep, while the rest headed for a different door. Jerell, still unsure, followed the crowd. As nonchalantly as he could, he asked,

"So, what do we do now?"

The nameless wight turned to him and said, in an irritated tone, "Do? We don't _do_ anything. We go and sleep until our next orders. Follow us."

The wights moved into what looked like it may once have been a barracks; but the windows were now boarded up, the beds devoid of any sheets, and the cabinets and footlockers lay lifeless and cold, their contents untouched since the transformation. It looked as if many more men had been housed here, Jerell guessed at perhaps a hundred or more in life. But now, in the cold blackness of the barracks, only a dozen stood. The building mightily resembled its current residents; cold, dilapidated, and dark. Without a word to Jerell or one another, the dozen men laid down on the cold beds and were resting within a matter of minutes, their untiring bodies were complimented by weary minds and spirits; weary with hopelessness and tired of disguising their circumstances, all they lived for was sleep and the next mission. They no longer even hoped for death; they had all died at one point or another in Calmus' service, and each time Vuk'osh had been there, pulling them back from their rest and depositing them once again in their dread livery. They had given up, and all they had left was to carry on numbly.

Jerell looked at the silent company for a moment, shaking his head. He _would_ find a way out of this. He turned and left the barracks, closing the door against the coming dawn on his way out.

* * *

Galreh stormed up to Calmus' room, furious. That troublesome fool! He barged into his master's room unannounced, dropping the dripping package at the doorstep.

Calmus turned to him with a bright smile in the candlelight. "Ah, Galreh! Success, I take it?"

"Yes, of course success!" Galreh growled. "What do you expect against those dumb brutes?"

Calmus strode over and clapped him on the back. "I expected nothing less, Captian Galreh. You know, I'm thinking of giving you a promotion."

"Enough small talk!" Galreh snapped impatiently, the dead-white balefire in his eyes flashing. "Get rid of that boy!"

Calmus gasped in mock surprise. "Who, Jerell? What did he do? I was meaning to ask how he had performed."

"What he is doing here?", Galreh snarled. "I don't like him."

"Why?" false concern on his face, Calmus responded, "What is he doing?"

"Why must you keep him?"

Calmus shrugged, and paused, a strange look on his face. "It's so dull around here these days, Galreh. No one to talk to. No one to chat with." he turned his gaze upon Galreh. "No one to test."

"What do you mean, test?", Galreh, asked, genuinely confused but fearing that his master was embarking on a foolish new tangent.

"I keep him, took him in the first place, to solve an interesting question. How far will the Brettonians go to protect their loyalty and honor?" A pause. "He stays. As soon as I find a suitable test for him, it will be your next assignment."

Galreh stared down hard at Calmus. He did not like where this was going. Vampires had their quirks, to be sure, but putting people through strange tests of their honor and loyalty? If Calmus had been one of Galreh's officers, he would have had him locked up for insanity. Treading on careful ground, Gelreh simply asked. "If you must amuse yourself so, why not visit your brothers? They seem to be able to keep themselves occupied."

Calmus laughed aloud. "Harems? Torturing defenseless peasants? Quite crass, Galreh."

"No more crass than treating a man like a little rodent, like one of Vuk'osh's smoking beakers of nonsense. Men are not experiments, Calmus, and that peasant in a suit of armor is hardly worth calling a man."

With that, Galreh turned on his heel and ended the conversation, picking up the package and heading for Vuk'osh's tower. As he ascended the steps to the mad necromancer's laboratory, he pondered what he could do. He also pondered why the foolish Jerell upset him so. Calmus had not really begun to change…and yet, there was something different about his master. Something that had sparked when that empty skull Jerell had arrived. Something that he did not like. Something that could put Calmus over the edge. Reaching Vuk'osh's door, he banged on it twice, and waited until the wizened figure appeared at the door.

He held the package up for inspection. Knowing the little man would be unable to even lift the contents, he asked "Where do you want these?"

Vuk'osh's eyes lit up when he saw the bag. "Yes, yes, yes, at last!" he cackled in glee. Put them here on the table. One day, I tell you, I will have such a monster that even you, my mighty friend, would fear to face it!"

Vuk'osh scuttled behind the huge wight as he walked to the table and deposited the package; it spilled open to reveal the ogre parts; several arms scattered across the table along with a few miscellaneous organs, and a nasty looking head staring blankly upwards, still contorted in a grimace of death. "Perfect!" Vuk'osh eyed the parts with a giddy, critical eye. "Well done."

"By the way", Galreh asked, "Could you tell me where our friend the wraith is? I want him to scout an area out for me."

At that, the unstable necromancer took a lockbox from underneath the dissection table and opened it. A strange, shimmering green light spilled out from within. "Our little friend was getting me this. I had him out on an assignment while you were away." He turned the box toward Galreh so that he could see the strange, glimmering, jagged rocks within. "This is wyrdstone, or warpstone if you prefer to call it that, straight from Mordheim. It has incredible properties-"

"Vuk'osh!" Galreh interrupted him. "I don't care where he _was_! Where is he _now_?"

"I just sent him out to gather elk bodies an hour or so ago. I am in short supply of nerves, you see, and strong bones, and elk have a ready supply of both."

Galreh sighed in exasperation. "Well, when he comes back, tell him to find me in the barracks."

But Vuk'osh wasn't listening; he was already bent over his dissection table, working with the ogre parts.

Galreh shook his head at the unstable little man and left the room.

* * *

Jerell wandered through the moonlit forest; he knew the wraith was about somewhere; his new sense of detecting other undead told him that his comrade was close. He had no idea just what sort of situation he had been thrown into, but this wraith and the mysterious comment made by his informant in the cave were definitely the next links in the chain. Jerell knew that he would get nowhere until he got some answers.

It wasn't long before Jerell found the wraith, stalking through the woods looking for elk.

"Ho, there!", he called out.

The wraith did not speak, did not even turn his head, only wordlessly beckoned the knight to his side.

Jerell took his place at the wraith's side and followed him through the woods for a good distance before breaking the silence.

"So, I think you have some explaining to do."

The wraith looked nonplussed. "Do I?"

"One of the knights told me to ask you why Calmus was changing."

The wraith stopped for a moment, then continued his slow glide forwards. "Did he?"

"Yes."

The wraith remained silent.

Jerell took a deep breath (or, he would have if he could), and patiently continued, "I'd like some answers."

"Answers? To what question? You have only been with us a few days, how are you to know that Calmus is changing?"

Jerell shrugged. "I don't. But one of the other wights told me that Calmus is growing bolder by recruiting a new member. What's that supposed to mean? Don't all vampires support a standing army? What would he want with a new member?"

The wraith chuckled. "A standing army? Tell me, have you seen a standing army here?"

"Well, no, but I thought it may have been away somewhere...isn't it?"

"No, we are all the forces Calmus has."

Jerell shook his head, confused as they walked. "But, if he only has a handful of troops to his name, then how does he conquer and terrorize the land?"

"No one ever accused knights of being terribly bright, but you certainly seem to be a slow one."

"Listen.", Jerell shouted angrily, his patience finally wearing thin, "I'm a new comer here, I have no idea what's going on, and I would appreciate some answers! That wight won't talk, and you are the only other one who has said two words to me. I need your help if I'm to make any sense of this at all!"

The wraith was silent for a moment before he began speaking, slowly and hauntingly. "Well, let's start from the beginning, then, shall we?"

Jerell nodded. At last.

"Calmus used to be a noble man. He resisted being turned, unlike some of his brothers, who embraced it. Even after he turned, he remained here, at this border keep. Whenever

he is summoned to the central Court, he sends back a missive saying that he is dealing with incursions, like those ogres you just dispatched. He does this even when there is no trouble. Normally, the other Counts believe him; they are happy to let someone else deal with the border trouble, so they can muster their own forces in peace. He has gone a few times, but he is virtually unknown there, so he can keep his distance."

Jerell nodded. "Tell me more."

"You might as well know this now. He resisted feeding until it was absolutely necessary, starving himself until he could stand it no longer. He never relished what he did, but he could never bring himself to starve himself to death. That's why he has no standing army. His brothers keep their villages of humans alive because it gives them a constant supply of food. Do you know what Calmus did to his village?"

Jerell shook his head, "No, I didn't see soul riding in, the entire place seemed deserted."

"Do you know why it was deserted?"

Wishing the wraith would get to the point, Jerell sighed inaudibly again. "Enlighten me."

The wraith sighed. "It was so long ago. One of the other Counts, who had already been turned, came to Calmus late one night. Calmus knew something suspicious was going on, but he didn't expect anything like this. When the other Count bit him, Calmus stabbed him through the heart, but it was too late. He was already dying. A page boy rushed

in, and saw what had happened. Calmus' last words were to get everyone away before they were all killed. The other Count got back up and pulled the dagger from his heart as the page rushed out and evacuated the town."

"So, everyone escaped?"

Another deep sigh from his companion. "Not quite everyone. The townsfolk got away, but the page rallied a few brave guards, and they returned to the keep to silence the other Count while he was still weak."

"I take it they failed?"

The wraith stopped. "They are still here. Those wights that you fought the ogres with are those brave guards, and the page boy is the one telling you the story."

They walked in silence after that, broken only by the page boy's instructions to pick a certain plant that Vuk'osh wanted. After a while, Jerell quietly asked, "So why is Calmus changing?"

The ghostly page boy sighed. "When Calmus was turned, the other vampires berated him severely for running off his humans, but since he was still alive at the time, there was little they could do. They did, however, assign Vuk'osh and Galreh to him, so that he would have some basic defenses, and they simply trust that he has found more humans to replenish his village; they don't bother to check on him. Vuk'osh is harmless; he would be a corrupting influence if he ever left his laboratory, which he doesn't. Galreh, however..."

After a slight pause, he continued; "Galreh really isn't a bad soul, but he was a military man in life. A cold, hard, military man, and he has no use for Calmus' qualms about his situation. He has been pushing Calmus for years to stop isolating himself and start a campaign, to wage war and bring glory like his brothers."

Jerell thought for a moment. "Calmus never waged war when he was alive?"

"Oh, he defended his territory, and he was a good swordsman in his day. But, he hated war." A chuckle. "He was far too soft."

Jerell thought some more. "And what about Galreh? He has no qualms about being undead?"

"So long as he has a sword in his hand and an enemy to fight, Galreh doesn't care about much else. He would rather not be a wight, but he cares more about the advantages and disadvantages of undeath in combat than any moral qualms about his undead form."

"Hmmmm…." Jerell thought for a moment, trying to take it all in. He was not normally a thinking man, but he knew he would have to understand the situation here fully if he was to make any difference at all.

"So, Calmus was unhappy with his undead form, but he just began caving under the pressure from Galreh to start a war?"

The page shook his head. "Well…yes, but there's a little more to it than that. There were some Chaos raiders who came through here a few months back."

Jerell nodded; he knew where the story picked up now.

"While we were scouting out ambush points, we found a village, barely inside his territory. It was a simple trading post that had sprung up in the years Calmus had been laying low, and it had grown. Calmus had starved himself prior to this, and he needed to feed to have enough strength to ward off the raiders. At Galreh's insistence, he began feeding off the villagers rather than his dwindling supply of prisoners. At that point, something changed within him, and he started to lose resolve. He began to give in to Galreh's constant prodding, and started to take sacrifices from the village in exchange for protection. With more power came more prodding from Galreh, and eventually he started to become more like his brothers. He is starting to change. Eventually, he will make a raid into the Empire lands, and forge his own army, just like the others. He is already prodding Vuk'osh for more zombies, and the way he studies the maps lately tells me that he is preparing for something."

"Hmm….I see now." It all seemed more or less clear cut to Jerell. This Calmus had tried his best to hold out against his vampiric nature, but in the end it was no use, and he was simply losing the fight. Then, another thought occurred to him.

"All right, I see now about Calmus, but what about Galreh? Why does he hate my guts? Or bones, I should say?"

The wraith did his best impression of furrowing his brow. "I don't know for sure, but I have an idea. I think your coming…changed something within Calmus, reminded him of his old life, and I think he has begun to remember why he kept fighting for so long once you arrived. That runs counter to Galreh's plans; he needs Calmus to change to be more like his brothers. So, of course he is working on getting rid of you."

A pause, and the wraith continued, "You must understand, Galreh is a soldier at heart. He lives for battle and glory. He has no vendetta against you or Calmus, but the only way that he can hear the battle call again is if Calmus accepts his lot as a vampire and begins to fight. When Galreh was raised back by the other vampires to serve Calmus, he accepted his undead form, and wanted to get back to battle. He is merely pushing Calmus to do the same. You are in the way, and thus he is trying to get rid of you. Nothing more, nothing less. If you weren't influencing Calmus, he would accept you as a fellow soldier and fight by your side instead."

There was a silence after that. It seemed as though every question had been answered, and all the ground covered.

The wraith broke the silence. "We still need an elk body for that accursed necromancer. Let's get to it."


	9. Breaking Point

Over the next few days, Jerell found himself with little to do. The wight squad spent most of their time sleeping, but they would have an occasional sword drill. However, Galreh had informed him that he wasn't welcome, so Jerell kept his distance, and Galreh simply ignored him. He had tried to speak to the rest of the wight squad again, but all he received in return was a bitter silence. He got the feeling that the bitterness was not directed at him, but rather at everything.

He mostly kept to himself, trying to think of how he could get out of his current predicament, and going over in his mind what the wraith had told him. He tried to remember all that he could about the peasant conscript who had reminded him of the Calmus that the wraith had described, not the present Calmus, and eventually he hit upon the idea that he had to do _some_thing to spark the return of that conscript within the vampire if he wanted to stop him. But…what could he do?

Devoid of other ideas, he took to visiting the prisoners often. He heard their stories, and told them bits of his; it was a glum scene as they all recounted their individual trials, but the result was always the same; winding up in a vampire's dungeon, waiting to be eaten. Many times they encouraged him to take a chance and stab Calmus in the back when he wasn't looking, but Jerell steadfastly refused. He was a knight, and his honor forbade him from attempting such a dirty trick, against the one to whom he had sworn loyalty, no less. He took time to gather the prisoners some extra food, and simply give them something to do besides stare at four walls.

Every night, he returned to the room that he had woken up in, rather than the barracks with the rest of the wights. It was a cold, forsaken room, full of dilapidated furniture and dust. Jerell supposed that once, long ago, this room had been used for weaving; there was a loom in the corner, several dressers, and many baskets of moth-eaten cloth and yarn. But now, everything stood in quiet disrepair under a generous helping of cobwebs, the windows boarded up against the harsh daylight, and the threadbare rugs speaking softly of a lively past now far gone.

'Not much of a Vampire's keep.' Jerell thought to himself. In fact, most of the keep looked like this. No grand tapestries, no lavish furniture, no trappings of any kind, just the remnants of the keep as it had been in life. What kind of vampire lived like this? Jerell shook his head and sat down to sleep. What was driving this man?

The next night, he found one more clue. Looking for something to do besides say out of Galreh's way and visit the prisoners, he wandered out into a moonlit courtyard, and stopped dead in his tracks. He had found a graveyard. A small graveyard, with perhaps fifty or so graves. The remarkable thing was that none of the graves were open; they were all perfectly clean and swept; some even had the remains of the scraggly flowers that grew in the forest. They had no names, but they were all cared for and in place. It seemed very out of place with someone like Vuk'osh around.

The next time he found his wraith friend, he asked him about it.

The response was simple and revealing. "Calmus buries every single person he kills. When Galreh is out and cannot berate him for it, he comes and puts flowers on the graves. He remembers every one, and it makes him despondent; he hates himself for it." The wraith shook his head. "Or, he used to, at least. Lately, ever since the beastmen attack, actually, he has ignored it." The wraith shrugged "So I maintain it now."

Jerell shook his head in disbelief. "I can't see how Vuk'osh hasn't broken in to it already."

"They did have a dispute about it once. But, Vuk'osh is a scientist at heart, and thus understands cause and effect. Calmus simply informed him that if he took bodies from the graveyard, the effect would be his death. Vuk'osh has never brought it up since."

Jerell looked out at the graves, some fresh, lost in thought.

"The last few he has neglected to bury; Calmus is changing indeed. I have buried them myself, and he has said nothing."

Jerell wondered within himself what was driving Calmus. Regret? Remorse? His conscience? He never had understood the upstart conscript, either.

The page boy broke his train of thought, "Calmus has appeared… altered for the last couple of days. For the worse. I can't explain it exactly, its as if something has given way within him. I have spoken to Galreh of it, and he has noticed it as well. He seems a bit…unhinged, in a way. It is fair to say that something within him has shifted…and nobody likes the direction it has taken. I am going to speak with him directly, but I doubt I will have any influence or learn anything. I hope, for all our sakes, that you come up with something soon."

At that, the wraith departed with a farewell nod.

Eventually, Jerell shook his head, then wandered away. He never had liked graveyards.

* * *

Calmus was hungry. Not so long ago, that hunger would have brought with it a bitter sorrow, coupled with the ever-present need for food; the physical gnawing in his stomach fighting with his honor, steadfastly refusing to do what was wrong. In the end, the hunger had always won out, but at least it had been abated, dulled, and kept at bay by what Calmus had known to be right.

That, however, was before. Now, the hunger brought with it only a sense of irritation. He knew he had to feed, but it was more of an annoyance now; a red haze surrounded his thoughts as of late, and would not let him be. The more he gave into his curse, the more powerful the haze became. A small part of him powerlessly protested what was to come, but he spared that part not a glance through the haze of his curse. He was hungry, and that was that. He marched down to the dungeon, and threw open the door. Without listening to the whining of the prisoners, he descended the stairs, grabbed one at random, and hauled them away. He slammed the door shut behind him, broke the neck, and drank the poor man dry without a second look. The pale shadow flew by, and he simply let the man's body slump down to the floor, before turning and walking away.

"Calmus."

He turned around to see the wraith's empty eye sockets looking at him sadly. "What is it?"

"Look at yourself, Calmus."

The vampire laughed. "I'm afraid that I can't see my reflection in a mirror, my little friend. Care to be more specific?"

The ghostly form was silent for a moment. "Look at what you've become. Only a month or so ago, you would have waited so much longer, and you would have buried him with sorrow in your eyes. Now, you throw them away like trash, like meat. What happened to you, Count? What has become of your will to fight your curse?"

At the wraith's words, that small part of Calmus that had protested began to speak up, to grow more bold. But, the red haze that had been growing in Calmus' mind for the past few weeks was the stronger. "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it." The Count growled. "Begone!"

The wraith, knowing he had pressed his luck far enough, bowed and flitted away. But, as soon as Calmus was gone down the hall, he returned and took the poor man's body to the cemetery, where he buried it.

What had become of his master? He knew full well the answer, but he didn't know how to cure it. He simply shook his head. He supposed that it was only a matter of time before this had happened. Nobody in Calmus' position could hold out forever.


	10. The Test

Calmus summoned Galreh and Jerell to his chamber. The two glared darkly at each other as they strode in, their armor clanking loudly in the darkness of the hall.

Calmus turned to greet them with a wide, malicious smile that was becoming more common as of late. "Well, well well." He addressed Jerell first. "I've talked with Galreh here about your performance with the ogres."

Galreh glared down darkly at his newest addition and said nothing, merely shakking his head in distase.

Calmus continued, uninterrupted. "You have been performing well. In fact, so well, that you are going to come along on our next expedition."

"Yes, sir." they both grumbled, in very similar tones of voice.

"Come," Calmus gestured at his map. "Do you see this area, near the Empire territory? I had to send out quite a few bats, but I finally found a suitable area."

They both nodded slowly.

"There is a village there. I want it eradicated."

There was silence for a moment. Then, Jerell spoke up.

"But…why? What have they done?"

Galreh chimed in with a scoff, "That group of huts has no strategic importance. Why would you waste resources demolishing it? Are we taking more prisoners? What's the point?"

Calmus stared at his soldiers, almost amusedly. "The point is none of your concern, grunts. Your job is to make sure that village is wiped off the map, no prisoners, no survivors. It is just on the borders outside of Empire territory; far enough away to avoid the taxes of the local duke, and also far enough away to avoid his direct protection. So just like our other village, you can expect that no reinforcements will be sent."

"Now just a minute!" Jerell cried out. "We had a deal! No innocent villagers were to be harmed!"

Calmus started to laugh, in a way to was a bit too unhinged for the taste of either of the wights standing there. "Ah, but our deal covers a very SPECIFIC village, my gullible little follower, and that village is still very much under my protection. This village, however, is not on my land and has been on the map for some time. Too long for my taste."

"But what have they DONE?", Jerell shouted in frustration.

"They are too close to my territory. Or to put it a better way, they are close enough for me to feel the first tests of my new power."

"Damnit, Calmus!" Galreh snapped. "This is foolish. Why waste your time on this? We may attract attention before we are ready."

Calmus balked in mock surprise. "Why Galreh, I'm surprised at you. Here you are always pushing for more action, and now you shy away at destroying a single village? The weather must be changing." Calmus replied with a smirk.

"I don't object at destroying some worthless peasants, I object to foolish tactics." Galreh hissed. Do you honestly want to tip your hand before your forces are built up? If we are attracting attention, we need zombies, skeletons, ghouls…all raised up and at the ready! We aren't prepared yet!"

Calmus answered with an unconcerned shrug. "I want to exercise my newfound strength with a show of power. And I wouldn't mind seeing just how far this little runt will go to protect his honor and his debt. And I shall do so on both counts. You", he gestured to Jerell, "will lead the scouting to make sure there are no survivors. If Galreh reports that any of the peasants escape once you have commenced the attack, you will pay the price. Now leave and prepare for your attack."

They both stalked out of the room, completely disgusted for two very different reasons. Who did that man think he was?

Galreh left immediately to go and practice some sword drills; that always helped him calm down after dealing with his idiotic master. He didn't even notice Jerell take off down the hall; he was looking for the wraith.

He needed a plan, and soon.

* * *

Two nights later, the group of wights found themselves in a cave only a few hours ride from their destination. Galreh had been brooding the entire ride about the best way to ensure that no survivors escaped; that way, no one would escape to tie the attack back to Calmus. Jerell, however, had spent that day feverishly working on some quite

different plans. Galreh ordered a halt early, around one o' clock in the morning; he knew that some of the villagers would run, and he wanted all night to commence the attack; he didn't want the break of dawn interfering with any attempts to run the escapees down. "At dusk tomorrow", he growled to his troop, "let none survive."

As everyone sat down to 'rest', Jerell intentionally chose a spot close to the mouth of the cave, as close as he dared without raising suspicion. He pretended to sleep until he was sure everyone was resting as deeply as possible, then he silently got up, on armor that he

had oiled and padded against clanking before he left the keep, and slipped from view, wondering if he would have enough time to pull off what he had in mind; he only had a few hours before sunrise. Luck was with him, and he made no noise at his departure.

A few hours later, Jerell peered out from behind a tree at their target. It was a small, forest hamlet of perhaps a hundred, just within empire territory but just far enough out to not be counted among any noble's lands. They had obviously not had any trouble for quite some time, relying on the proximity of the local noble's army for protection, without actually being under it or paying any tribute. This had apparently worked well them, as the entire village seemed asleep and no watch seemed to be posted. Jerell looked around anxiously; where WAS the page boy?

Another hour passed, with Jerell anxiously waiting in a clearing and searching the sky for the breaking of the dawn, wondering what had become of his companion. They had agreed to meet there…was he lost? Had he been detained? Changed his mind? Jerell paced for another hour before the wraith finally drifted into view.

"I was beginning to wonder if I would need to do this alone.", Jerell smirked as his companion drifted nearer. "What took you so long? The night is nearly gone."

The wraith seemed to shrug. "Well, after you left, there was a complication. I was informing the prisoners of your plans as I fed them, you know how they starve for news outside their four walls, and some of them, "he gestured, "insisted on coming along."

A handful of undead steeds trotted out from behind a copse of trees, Maggie and a handful of the other prisoners riding them.

Jerell doubled over in disbelief. "What? Why did you bring them? They could easily get killed if this goes bad!"

"As opposed to what?" Maggie shot back. "Rotting in that dungeon waiting for Calmus to kill us anyways?" she fixed him with a funny look. "We'd rather help, thanks."

The wraith chimed in, "We made a bit of a plan. It certainly would be more helpful if we had real humans to aid us in this. What did you come up with?"

Jerell shook his head. "Not much, I'm afraid. I was going to set some houses on fire and shout about being a harbinger of a coming army, and hope that got them panicked enough that they would flee."

The wraith turned back to his assistants, and said, "I think our plan sounds a bit

better." He looked worriedly at the sky. "We will need to start soon, dawn will be upon us. Are you all ready?"

They all nodded looking out towards the village. Maggie sighed. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I suppose it must look realistic."

The wraith shrugged. "I'm afraid so. Get ready. Jerell, I'll explain later."

Maggie dismounted, tensed, and closed her eyes. The wraith floated up to her, and proceeded to slash her across the face and arms with his razor sharp fingers of bone, giving her some nasty looking but shallow cuts. She stifled a yelp of pain as he raked at her arms, getting more blood out. Once he was satisfied, he stopped.

"There, that looks rather ugly. Get going, we'll be right behind you." He turned towards the closest prisoner as Maggie ran from the clearing towards the village. "Come on, you too."

* * *

"HELP!" Maggie screamed as she stumbled into the town square,

bleeding and shaky, more of her fellow prisoners in tow behind her and picking up the call. "HELP! Somebody! Anybody! HEEELP!" they all screamed as they collapsed in the town square, breathing hard and bleeding all over the cobblestones.

A few groggy villagers came out of their homes, and when they saw a group of haggard refugees bleeding in their courtyard, they rushed to help immediately, lighting lamps and surrounding the injured party.

"It's okay, we've got you. You're safe now. Who did this to you?"

"You'll be fine now."

"Fetch Lathan! And Morish! Hurry!"

"Call the guard!"

The chatter and hubbub around the town square woke more villagers, who came stumbling out of their homes to see what the trouble was.

Maggie took the lead role. "Help! You must hide us! Get us into the inn, the basement, hurry!", she gasped. "Hurry before they come back and find us!"

"Why? Who's after you? There's a lot of us here, miss, we'll protect you and your friends now."

"No, you don't understand, you can't protect me, just HIDE us!" this last she screamed so loudly that the rest of the villagers heard and complied, leading their limping bodies into the inn and bolting the windows.

All the while, she carried on with the rest of the prisoners, babbling about the undead and how they were after the whole party, how they had escaped and how they needed to hold out until the dawn. One of the prisoners chimed in that there was a vampire with a huge force of skeletons, and he was on the way here.

The town gathered around the inn, everyone awoken by the clamor. Some were starting to get worried because of their ravings; the blood and the condition of their clothes were having the desired effect. The council had been summoned, and there was much whispering and debate about what was going on.

After a few minutes, the townsfolk heard an awful, piercing voice outside the inn cry out,

"WHERE are they?"

Looking outside, they saw a shadowy, hooded figure in the center of the courtyard, dimly exposed in the lamplight, its eyes twin flames beneath a deep hood, billowing a cloud of smoke underneath its shadowy form.

The wraith waited for the windows at the inn to fill with faces before he continued, in his most menacing voice, "They are here! You have sheltered those who have escaped from us! The mark of death is upon this town; by the morrow, you shall all join us in the grave!" At this, he let forth his most menacing laugh, and signaled Jerell. A house began to smolder. Then two, then three and four and five, empty houses went up in very dramatic flames.

"That's them!" Maggie hissed. "You must believe me, our only chance is…do you have a grandfather clock?"

The townsfolk, bewildered by what was happening, pointed into the next room. She dramatically raced over, saw the time, then let out a cry of triumph. "We're free!" she called back to the other prisoners. At that, one of them opened the door a crack and shouted back at the wraith, "The break of dawn is nigh! You have arrived too late! You'd best leave while you still can, scum!"

The wraith seemed to sneer back. "Perhaps for now, the dawn will save you. But come the dusk, you will know the cold sleep of death. ALL OF YOU!" he roared out, and then melded back into the shadows.

With that, another house caught fire, and solid, heavy footsteps were heard clearly plodding away.

* * *

Back in the forest, Jerell met with his wraith companion. "Well, do you think it worked?"

The wraith nodded. "After that display, I most certainly hope so."

Jerell sighed in relief. Well, I certainly hope they make it out all right. I hope I didn't destroy too much by burning the houses, but it had to be done. A sudden thought startled him. "Wait, how do you plan on explaining the loss of your charges? That trick cost us quite a few prisoners. What will Calmus say when he goes to feed again?"

The wraith shrugged, or at least, did his best impression of a shrug. "They got sick and died. Calmus rarely checks the prisoners anymore."

Jerell nodded, and looked at the sky. "Well, I'm afraid that the dawn really _is_ breaking, and I need to get back to the cave before the sun rises. What about you?"

"I can slip inside a rock or tree, I'll be fine. I won't be missed, I'm supposed to be gathering more reagents for Vuk'osh."

Jerell nodded again. "Good. I hope our little performance worked."

"As do I, my friend. As do I."

* * *

The following evening, the wights set out to find the village. What they found was a deserted hamlet. Aside from a few houses that had been burned down, there was no sign of battle or forced struggle. There were no animals, horses, or wagons; it was as if there had been a fire and the populace had simply left. Jerell took care to kick some dirt over the bloodstains on the courtyard before anyone could notice.

Galreh scowled. "Check the houses."

Galreh met back with his squad after only a few minutes. "Deserted, sir." was the unanimous reply.

"Yes," Galreh sneered. "Deserted. VERY recently. The hearths are almost still warm, no dust, no animals have taken up residence within the homes. The feed troughs are still half full, and the inn still has full ale barrels. The embers on the burned houses are still hot."

Galreh glared very purposefully at Jerell. "I wonder why the villagers chose this VERY day to leave in great haste, leaving many of their belongings behind."

Jerell guardedly answered, "Well, I suppose that is an intriguing puzzle, but it's of no concern to us. Our job is to eliminate this village. No mystery if we burn the rest of these houses down tonight, is there?"

Galreh lost his composure at that point, and struck Jerell across the face, sending his helm flying. "HOW STUPID DO YOU THINK I AM?" He roared. "They left this very DAY, just ahead of us, and they are likely traveling through the night. Do you care to explain this?"

Jerell tacitly chose not to answer.

"I would kill you now if I could. When we return to the keep, we shall see what Calmus thinks of this little trick you have pulled. Perhaps now he will let me get rid of you."

He addressed the rest of his men, "Burn it to the ground."

As the rest of the squad split up and set the empty hamlet aflame, Jerell simply replied, "Perhaps."

* * *

That night, the wraith returned to the charred wreckage of the village, just to make sure that no one had perished in the flames; that all had truly left. As he sifted through the rubble, he found no bones. Good. As he turned to leave, he heard a familiar voice call out to him. He turned, and there was Maggie, standing there at the edge of the village.

He gaped in surprise. "What are you doing here? You were supposed to leave with the rest!"

Maggie nodded sadly. "The rest of the prisoners are well on their way into the Empire. Only I stayed. I slipped away in the confusion."

The wraith approached her, almost angrily. "Why on earth did you stay behind? You were supposed to escape, that was the whole point!"

Maggie looked at him sadly. "Their destination was…uncertain. Some of them had suggested Braddock."

"What possible difference…" the wraith trailed off as an earlier conversation with the prisoners came back to him. "Oh. I remember now." The wraith returned her sad gaze. "Yes, I remember now."

There was a long silence after that, broken only by the chirping of the crickets. At last, the wraith broke the silence. "The mounts you rode in on turned to dust with the rising sun. I can't give you one."

Maggie nodded.

The wraith continued sadly, "Can you survive out here on your own?"

Maggie shook her head. "An unarmed, untrained woman, out alone, with no horse?" Maggie laughed humorlessly. "Whether from hungry wolves or roving thugs, my chances aren't good. At least back at the keep, I've got several other prisoners between me and death. Out here would be suicide. Returning to Braddock would be suicide."

A ghostly sigh. "You know that Calmus has lost his will to fight his curse. Your death will be soon if you return."

Maggie shrugged. "Maybe Jerell will come through for us. That, at least, I can hope for back there."

"It will be a long walk back to your prison cell."

Maggie nodded mutely. She hoisted a bag over her shoulder. "Food and water scavenged from the inn. I managed to get a second bag for those still at the keep. Would you mind carrying it?"

The wraith sadly lifted the pack onto his shoulder, and they began walking. "You've been dealt a pretty rough hand, my lady." He mumbled. "I'm sorry you couldn't escape with the others."

Maggie chuckled a bit. "I think the hand you've been dealt is a bit worse, friend."

They kept on moving, back to whatever awaited them at Calmus' keep.


	11. Unwanted Attention

Galreh marched straight into Calmus' chambers upon arriving.

Calmus stared back at him, an oddly expectant look on his face. In the torchlight, it was hard to make out his expression. "Well, how did it go?"

Galreh reached behind him and forcibly threw Jerell onto the floor between them.

"This louse." Galreh began, "scared off the villagers the day before we arrived. I don't know how he did it, but he did. They had abandoned the village that very day, and he was found missing from the cave where we were resting. He doesn't even deny it."

Calmus was silent for a moment, and then he began to clap. Slowly at first, but increasing in intensity, until he started to laugh. Just a small chuckle that built into a deep, throaty chortle. "Well done, my boy." Calmus said as he regained his composure. "Well done. I was wondering what you would do."

Jerell looked up at him, and said, "If you were willing to risk that whole village just to see what I would do, you truly have lost your humanity." He turned back to Galreh. "I don't know why I worry you so much. You've done a fine job with him as it is. Did you really think I was going to change him back?"

Galreh snorted. "Well said, louse, all the same I'd still like you out of the way."

Calmus stopped laughing at this point, and calmly ordered them away. "Your next test will be forthcoming as soon as I can think of one." He waved his hand dismissively. "One that you won't have such an easy time weaseling your way out of."

The two wights came out of the room and quickly parted ways with a glare, Galreh

running into Vuk'osh on his way out.

"I need to speak with Calmus immediately,"Vuk'osh exclaimed. "There is a small matter of the research I have been conducting. It may have attracted some unpleasant attention."

Galreh slowly turned to look at him. "That man in there is beginning to go mad with his games and power plays." He shook his head. "Now may not be a good time. Can the news wait?"

Vuk'osh shifted a bit nervously. "I suppose so..."

"Good. Then save it until tomorrow night. Right now, it wouldn't help to talk to him with the state he's in."

Vuk'osh reluctantly nodded, and puttered away, muttering, "I would like more time, but I'll need to put the finishing touches on tonight just in case. It won't be pretty... I should never have ordered that warpstonesent here." Then he turned a corner and was gone.

Galreh sighed, and walked to his cell to sleep out the coming day. Warpstone…wyrdstone…that sounded familiar… almost as if that should have meant something…? He half turned around and considered tracking down the eccentric old man to find out what he had meant, but the necromancer had long since scuttled back to his tower, and was nowhere in sight.

Shrugging, Galreh continued his walk back to the barracks.

Calmus retired to his coffin, a mix of emotions. Jerell had done it. He had kept his honor and still fulfilled the command. Intriguing… And now...he had been willing to destroy that hamlet for nothing. He sighed. His conscience, strengthened by the wraith's words, would not let him be, even though he still felt no end of amusement at the events. Playing Galreh off on that knight was simply too much fun. And yet...

As he pulled the lid down before the sun rose, that nagging feeling would not leave him. And yet what was he doing? What had he done? He was hungry; he had used more of his strength to help Vuk'osh with his creation. He wanted an evening meal…he knew he needed it. But, something held him back. Something Jerell had said…

Calmus shook his head and closed his eyes. He was being a fool, listening to Jerell. But, he stayed in his coffin and did not take his meal, nonetheless.

* * *

"CALMUS!"

Calmus woke with a start, his coffin still closed. He could faintly hear sounds of clashing metal outside. Groggily, he could tell that it was still daylight; he felt very weak.

"CALMUS, GET UP! NOW!"

Calmus, finally beginning to realize what was happening, composed himself as best he could, and checked for his hidden dagger before throwing the lid open and groggily jumping to his feet.

He saw Jerell standing at the steps, his blade a flashing arc in the gloom, leaving errie trails of cold, unnatural light as it wove between its opponents in the darkness. Calmus turned his head to see what Jerell was fighting, seeing only a faint, sickly green glow swimming around Jerell's feet. He seemed to be fighting only air; there was nothing that Calmus could see beyond Jerell's head. But, before he could call out, Calmus heard the skittering of clawed feet and the maddened, low snickering of Jerell's opponents, and he cursed.

Jerell was fighting a press of Skaven as they surged down the stairs, trying to get into the room. "Get out of here!" Jerell yelled back over his shoulder. Calmus did not waste any time shaking off his sleep and jumping for the next room. He had placed his coffin in the deepest part of the keep; the old wine cellar, and there was another door out to the vineyards. As he reached the door, he glanced back to see a crackling green blade slice Jerell's legs out from under him, and as the tide of Skaven surged over the unfortunate Jerell, he managed one last, heroic strike, shaking one off his arm and cleaving three in half.

"CALMUS! GET OUT OF HERE!" Jerell shouted, as he smashed a Skaven thug in a face.

"RUN!" were Jerell's last words before the tide of ratmen drove him into the earth.

Calmus bolted through the door and ran for all he was worth through the cellar, until he reached the stairs, cursing as he saw sunlight seeping through the trapdoor to the surface. They had likely attacked at high noon; the ratmen weren't stupid. Looking around, he saw nothing in the way of a cloak or shield. In desperation, he smashed the lid off a large wine barrel, dumped the contents, threw open the trapdoor, and hefted it over his head before the sun could burn him too much.

He could hardly see out the cracks in the barrel as he ran across the courtyard, and his legs were beginning to ache as the sun pierced through his leggings. But he knew his keep, and he made a fair path to the front door. The skaven, caring no more for the light than he, cursed him as he ran into the blinding sunlight, and hurriedly retreated into the darkness, their eyes burning at the harsh light of day.

Calmus hit the front door of the keep, and cursing, threw the barrel off his head and threw the door open as his skin began to burn. He darted inside and shut the door as fast as he could, back in the refuge of the shadows. Taking a moment to collect himself, he heard a commotion down the hall. He turned, his dagger at the ready now, and proceeded down the dark passage to the main hall, the noise growing ever louder and more chaotic. As he peeked around the corner, what he saw filled him with equal parts dread and amazement.

A huge pit had been blasted open in the middle of the floor, and Skaven were surging out of it; at least two hundred were swarming about the hall. Their skittering and maddened squealing filled the room with such a grinding cacophony of noise the Calmus shut his ears. They had Galreh and his wight squad backed against a wall; dead Skaven piled in heaps about them. The wraith was with them, his scythe cutting through the attackers effortlessly. The dead Skaven had piled up so high that their comrades were climbing on top of the bodies of the fallen, leaping from their vantage point with a viscous squeal to strike at the beleaguered wights. Out of the corner of his eye, Calmus saw a tide of them surge up the stairs to Vuk'osh's chamber.

Frantically casting about for an idea, some way to help, Calmus knew he would be unable to do a thing; he had not eaten in days. He looked back to the fight, and saw the group valiantly fighting; they were all on their feet. Galreh was a true elite warrior, and he had trained the others well. None of the Skaven had risen to challenge him; they simply tried to overpower the group with sheer weight of bodies. With a wall at the group's back and untiring undead arms, that strategy was working poorly for the Skaven. Their wight blades cast a twisting white trail of death through the rats, none of the scurvy thugs able to outdo the hardened wights' swordsmanship. As the blades clashed, Calmus saw a huge brute of a skaven shout something, and throw a green glowing sphere into the midst of Galreh's troop. One of the company kicked it away, and it exploded in a searing burst of chaotic green fire, throwing both sides back for a moment and blasting the mound of Skaven bodies aside. Galreh chose this moment of confusion to make a last stand. His old battle cry from his life echoing from his lifeless skull, he cried out, "CHARGE! FOR THE EMPIRE! For Prince Langar!"

As one, his entire company shifted ethereal and ran unhindered through the Skaven ranks. The warriors passed, ghostlike, through the startled, raging Skaven, the ratmen's knives and cutlasses slicing at them but only passing through the air, sometimes their comrades. Through the ranks they charged, past the screaming tide of rats, until they reached the leader who had barked the order and thrown the sphere. The undead formed a circle around him, the leader frantically trying to escape and push past his soldiers, but not fast enough to outrun his pursuers. Galreh shifted back to the material world just as his sword howled through the air at the leader's neck, cleanly severing his head. The rest of his troop all managed their final strikes at the surging pool of ratmen. The wraith, in a last cry of defiance, swung his scythe and cut four of them down.

And then it was over. In the blink of an eye, before any of the undead could shift back to the safety of their ethereal form, they were drowned in a surging tide of skittering rats, dozens of knives finding their mark, a hundred ragged hands clawing at armor and ripping the straps apart, a horde of ravenous jaws sending bones flying and releasing the souls trapped within to their final rest.

The frenzy of rats lasted a few minutes, and then it was over; the last of the undead having been killed, the tide shifting to the stairs to a door set high in the wall. It led to the stairs to Vuk'osh's tower room.

Calmus shrank back into the shadows; none of the rats had seen him in the frenzy; their attention was locked on getting up the door at the top of the stairs. All of a sudden, Calmus thought he saw the tide of rats at the door slow down for a moment, as if they were hesitating. Uncertain, they started to mill around for a moment. Calmus heard a thumping sound coming from Vuk'osh's tower. Then, they all began to run, and the door blasted open with a mighty crash, sending all the Skaven on the landing flying.

All of a sudden, something burst forth from the wall, breaking the doorframe, scattering dust and stones everywhere and shaking the chamber with a mighty bellow of fury. Before the dust could clear or the Skaven could re-group, something huge jumped from the landing, hitting a tightly packed group of Skaven and killing many of them simply by the force of its fall. In the same instant, all eyes in the room were drawn to the top of the stairs, where the dust was slowly clearing around a madly cackling figure. Vuk'osh raised his staff above his head with both arms and shook it gleefully, chortling a whooping, triumphant laugh and madly screaming, "It's ALIVE! It's ALIIIVE!"

"It" was indeed alive; Calmus turned his eyes towards the new arrival and drew back in shock and disgust.

A huge, bulbous sphere of flesh greeted the Skaven raiding force; a vicious ogre head glaring down from the apex of the monstrosity's bulk, almost hidden by the curve of the monster's flesh. Calmus could not count the arms which sprouted haphazardly from the mass of flesh, but there looked to be about a dozen; a few supporting the monster's weight and the rest thrashing about wildly in search of fresh meat. The creature clumsily lurched forward and bellowed with a jaw that had come from no ogre. Several Skaven bodies already hung limply from the creature's monstrous mouth; Calmus could not begin to guess where Vuk'osh had found those jaws. He had seen a marsh crocodile once in the southlands; that was the only thing he could think of that would sport such a maw. He did not have long to reflect on the matter, as Vok'osh shouted down from his perch,

"Cower in fear, you scum! Face my masterpieeeeece!"

With that, he thrust his staff into the air; the tip began to glow with a sickening yellow light. At that, a horrifying voice boomed from Vuk'osh's mouth, thick with sorrow and straight from the grave, it shook the entire chamber so that Calmus again shut his ears against the shock of the sound. Even with his hands against his ears, Calmus could clearly hear the words:

THE END COMES ON SWIFT WINGS

HEAR AS NOW MY PRETTY SINGS

TIME IS SHORT

WHILE THERE'S A CHANCE

DANCE MY PUPPET, _DANCE _

With that, the lumbering mass of flesh flashed the same sickening yellow color for a moment, and then rushed the Skaven ranks with unnatural speed and an even more unnatural roar that stunned the Skaven closest to it. Calmus could not even follow the creature's arms, swinging and tossing Skaven everywhere; the arms were so fast, they did not even have a chance to run. It became a blur of movement, not slowing, not even for an instant as it tore through the Skaven ranks as if it were splashing through a pool, kicking and screaming as they met their end, either stomped into the floor or thrown with a crunch against a wall. As it lurched forwards with unnaturalspeed, Calmus caught sight of a weakness; there were no arms along its back; and it would make a perfect target. A few cunning Skaven caught sight of this as well, and quickly ran around behind the horrendous behemoth and began to scamper up its back, their claws digging easily into its thick flesh; their goal obviously to cut off the head. The abomination's creator gazed right at them and merely cackled hideously, as if he had been waiting for this. His eyes fixed balefully on the insidious ratmen.

About halfway up, a giant, hidden mouth tore the creature's flesh wide open from the inside, and the entire group of ratmen was swallowed whole, squealing in terror until the opening sealed back up again, leaving only a few tails and a Skaven arm hanging limply from the strangely grinning maw.

Vuk'osh laughed in unrestrained glee at the sight. "So much beautiful death!" he cried, "Perish you dirty-"

He was abruptly cut off as a Skaven dagger blossomed from his chest, the green chaotic fire skittering across the blade lighting up his shocked face in an eerie, shimmering luminescence. It only lasted a moment before the snickering Skaven assassin unceremoniously kicked him off the edge of the balcony and vanished up the stairs in a flash with a snide flick of his tail.

The battle below, however, was far from over. The monstrosity had lost its unnatural speed with its creator, but it was still harassing the Skaven, none of whom dared try to attack its back again. One of them got too close, and was grabbed and tossed quickly into the creature's waiting jaws.

The Skaven milled about for a few minutes, always keeping their attention focused entirely on the creature, always staying just out of arm's length. The creature made a wide circle in the ranks wherever it walked, roaring its fearsome challenge. The Skaven would not answer such a call; instead they tried a few of their green warpfire bombs, but the creature's thick flesh seemed to simply scorch from the flames with few ill effects. They seemed to be waiting for something.

They did not wait long. A squeaking, scraping sound came from the tunnel, and out came four burly slave-rats, dragging what looked like a cannon with a warpstone payload on the back and a crazed Skaven engineer riding the contraption. If it was possible, this new arrival looked even more maddened than Vuk'osh, with bits of metal sticking out of his flesh and a strange, glowing monacle covering one eye. Without waiting for an assessment of the situation or even orders, the unstable rodent jumped off of his perch, turned the cannon in the general direction of his opponent, and with a devilish grin that told all assembled that this was what his lived for, shrieked like a madman and set off the cannon.

The smarter Skaven had figured out what was going on and had long since ran. However, some of the more single-minded ratmen had been too focused on the enemy in front of them, and thus did not notice the cannon being dragged into place. These overly-focused Skaven never knew of their mistake, as they were instantly seared away into ashes by the unstoppable peal of green flame that roared forth from the cannon, incinerating all in its path, including a slave rat who had not gotten away quickly enough.

The abomination seemed uncomprehending of the searing green light that rapidly approached, until it was thrown against the far wall by the sheer force of the blast. Dust and stones scattered everywhere as the huge bulk of the creature smashed through the wall, letting harsh shards of daylight into the chamber. The sound of scattering rubble and the maniacal cackling of the Skaven warpfire engineer were all that could be heard for a moment, until the abomination roared again and crashed back onto the scene, its skin ablaze from the sunlight.

The warpfire had blasted a huge hole into the creature's side; a hundred stolen organs were flowing out from the wound freely, along with a steady stream of the embalming fluid that passed for the creature's blood. The bone structure of the abomination was laid bare; bones that had been shaped as if by an architect to support the massive bulk; like some macabre stadium of flesh. The unfortunate Skaven group that had been swallowed before came oozing out; their slime-drenched bodies lifeless and cold as they sloughed out onto the floor in the harsh light of day.

The monstrosity raged in uncontrolled fury, stampeding across the room at the astonished engineer. Frantically, he tried to prime the cannon for another shot, hauling at the controls and whaling on the warpstone, screaming at it to fire. A green light built up steadily in the depths of the machine's barrel, but it was too late, and the abomination was almost upon him. He screamed for his fellows to aid him; but they would have laughed out loud had they not been so utterly terrified of the enemy they now faced.

With one arm, the abomination reached out, grabbed the barrel, and tossed the cannon behind it; with the same motion, as one arm threw the cannon backwards, two more arms came around, grabbed the helpless engineer, and tore him apart. As the creature bellowed again in hatred and triumph, the charged cannon hit the far wall and exploded, blasting another hole and sending shards of masonry showering down about the room. Several Skaven who had been unfortunate enough to be standing in the vicinity were too slow to escape, and were caught in the explosion; dead lumps of charred fur were all that remained.

The now wounded creature turned to its remaining attackers, which were now much fewer than before, and roared its defiant challenge. Even mortally wounded as it was, the remaining Skaven were not keen to fight it, and kept their distance, waiting for it to bleed out or stumble in its lumbering rage. As the Skaven backed away across the chamber, they heard a screeching cry of glee from the stairs. All eyes, even the creature's, turned to face this new development. The assassin who had killed Vuk'osh stood there triumphantly, a lockbox held over its head. It barked a few orders in the chitttering tongue of the Skaven, and in a flash, stashed the lockbox under the crook of its arm, and darted down the stairs and into the depths of the tunnel with the dash and profile only a rat could muster. With dizzying speed, the rest of the Skaven force followed suit, retreating down into the hole from whence they came. They slithered in a fast-flowing stream of skittering fur, the tunnel swallowing them up like water poured from a bottle.

In moments, the rapidly diminishing sound of footsteps wasall that could be heard.

The creature, still standing and roaring in fury after its prey, lumbered down to the mouth of the tunnel, and sticking its head through the opening, begin to dig with alarming speed, almost like a terrier going after a rodent. Once its massive bulk and roars had disappeared into the tunnel, Calmus heard a distant boom flow up from the yawning mouth. The Skaven had set off explosives in the tunnel, and a second resounding rumble echoed up from the cavern, along with the abomination's last hateful scream. With that, the tunnel mouth collapsed, leaving a huge pit in the center of the room.

The Skaven were suddenly gone, leaving nothing but a billowing dust cloud rolling from the pit, and a new, implacable visitor to the battlefield:

Silence.


	12. Departure

Calmus looked slowly around at the ruins of the battlefield; what had once been the central throne room of his keep. Dust swirled up slowly, lazily from the collapsed Skaven tunnel, illuminated in the harsh light of day that was breaking through the holes in the wall.

Calmus slumped back against the wall, amazed that he was still in one piece. He had hidden around the corner the entire time, and the Skaven had been so focused on the enemy before them, that none of them had bothered to scout out the rest of the castle, including the hall that Calmus was currently occupying. He slid down the wall into a crouch, and tottered around the corner to avoid the unrelenting noonday sun that was now pouring in. Hungry from lack of blood, quite exhausted from awakening in the daylight, and still overwhelmed by what had just taken place, it all caught up with Calmus at once. He fell over from his half-crouch, unconscious before his head hit the floor. Fortunately for him, he fell back into the shadows, away from the piercing light of day.

When he awoke, it was night. The daylight had passed, but the silence remained. He rose, quietly walked past the bodies of the fallen, not quite sure what he was going to do now. In any case, he would have to leave. He plodded through the empty halls to his room, where he gathered his sword, armor, and a purse of gold. To where? The Court? He went to his chambers, still not thinking clearly, he only knew that he had to get somewhere for help. Everyone had been in that battle; Vuk'osh, Galreh, his wights, the page, Jerell…

Jerell! Why on earth had Jerell saved him?

Calmus thought back to the last few hours, when he had been awoken. It made absolutely no sense. Jerell wanted him dead, so that he could be free of his undead wight form and the villiagers would be free of their agreement. If Jerell had seen the Skaven coming, and had known that Calmus was asleep and hungry, all he needed to do was throw Calmus' coffin lid open and let the tide of rats take them both. Why?

But, speaking of hungry, Calmus was still hungry. And…the prisoners! Were they still alive?

Grabbing his heavy traveling cloak on the way out, Calmus raced to the dungeon. The door was still shut and barred, with no sign of any Skaven. Good.

As he approached it, Calmus had mixed feelings. He wanted to feed, right here, right now. And yet…something held him back. Jerell was dead, the deal was off. And yet, Jerell was the only reason he was alive…

Calmus opened the door, and saw that the prisoners were gathered in the corener, a few had rocks held high, ready to throw them. When they saw it was Calmus, they put the rocks down.

Maggie spoke, "Phew, we though we were dead for sure. What happened out there?"

Another prisoner snorted, "We're still dead, ya wench. He's gonna eat us just the same, just later, is all." The prisoner turned to Calmus. "But, what did happen? We heard boomin and fighin. You get attacked, Count?"

Calmus nodded, still in a state of shock. "It was the Skaven." The prisoners all winced at the mention of the horrific ratmen. "They killed everyone but me. I only escaped because they didn't see me."

Another prisoner snorted. "You mean you hid and ran like a coward?"

Calmus' eyes flared up. "If I had had a little food, I would not have run." He stepped forward towards the unfortunate object of his attention.

"If I had had strength to fight them with, nobody would have been lost."

Another step closer.

"If I had not waited to feed on your pathetic, louse-eaten skin, I would not be in this situation."

Another step closer.

"I believe it's time for me to rectify this problem."

"Now wait just a minute!" Maggie spoke up, seeing the unfortunate prisoner shrink back in fear. "What about Jerell's deal?"

Another step forwards. "Jerell is dead."

Then, Calmus paused. "But…." Jerell's last words flew through his mind.

"CALMUS! GET OUT OF HERE!

RUN!"

Calmus shook his head. "But, I suppose there is still some honor in that…" He trailed off in thought. What to do now…? The Court, perhaps…

"Well, we can't very well stay here," Maggie interrupted his thoughts, trying to change the subject. "Why don't we head for the village?" She smirked. "We are your subjects, aren't we, Count? Don't that make our safety of paramount importance?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

At that, Calmus laughed. It was a pent up laugh, a laugh he needed to release because he wasn't quite sure what else to do. He responded with the same sarcastic tone, "Well, I suppose you have a point there." He looked at the motley group of less than a dozen prisoners, most of whom were as hungry as he was. Well, they would suffer together, then. "Come along, subjects." he commanded. "We had best get a move on."

He wasn't quite sure why, but he took Jerell's sword with him before he left.

* * *

They pressed on towards the village on foot all night, in silence under the moonlight. The prisoners weren't quite sure what Calmus was going to do next or even why they were still alive, so they kept quiet to avoid upsetting a delicate balance in the Count. Why were they still alive?

The Count knew why. Only one reason. Jerell…his sacrifice had restored the strength of honor in him. And, as he walked along in silence, it showed him how depraved he had been, willing to sacrifice that entire village along the Empire's border as a test, some ridiculous means of amusement. What had he become? Calmus shook his head. He knew what he had become. And, he did not like it. He continued on in silence, wondering what on earth he was going to do now.

* * *

It was late morning when the ragged group stumbled up the mountain pass, Calmus wrapped tightly in a heavy traveling cloak, the hood pulled down entirely over his face. They had walked all night, with only a few short breaks for rest, and no food. They were tired, hungry, and thirsty. They didn't care about anything except getting to bed. As a group, they stumbled into the inn, ignoring the looks from the townsfolk, waving them away with vague promises to explain later. Once they were inside and the door was shut, Calmus shut the windows, threw off his hood, grandiosely demanded food and water for his "retainers", and promptly retired to a room. The rest of the group wearily accepted some food and water, and then followed suit, promising to explain in the morning.

* * *

When morning came, word had already spread about the village that Calmus' keep had been attacked by Skaven, and he had retreated here with the last of his prisoners. There had been talk of staking him while he was weak, but nobody knew just how weak he was, or just quite what was going on. Eventually, at dusk, after the entire town had been abuzz for the day with the news, Calmus showed his face with the setting of the sun. He simply called the Council and anyone else who wanted to listen, as well as the prisoners, to the inn's common room.

Calmus stood at the head of the room, by the burning hearth, looking very weary, very hungry, and very tired. But, when he spoke, his voice was still strong and confident.

"Well, my good people, I'm sure that you've heard the news." He smirked. "The Skaven attacked my keep, in broad daylight no less, and their surprise attack was successful. My soldiers drove them off, but at the price of all of their lives. Or, their undead forms, I should say, rather. In any case, I have good news and bad news for you. In fact, it is only one piece of news; you can decide whether or not it is good or bad."

He paused a moment as the crowd murmured, then continued.

"My deal with you is off. I will be leaving; so your sacrifices will end. While you are doubtless pleased by this news, the consequence is that you will no longer be receiving my protection." He smiled wanly. "Which, in view of recent events, seems like it may not have been worth what you were paying after all." The crowd laughed uneasily at his little joke at his own expense.

"At any rate, my good people, you are now free to do as you wish. You may stay here, and hope that your seclusion will protect you, as it has for several years prior to this. Or, you may head back to the Empire and sacrifice your freedom to the tyrannical rule of some duke or other in exchange for protection. I would suggest the latter; for when I return to Von Carstien's Court, they will doubtless send a replacement to my border fort. I can guarantee that he will not leave you in peace once he learns of your presence."

Calmus shrugged. "I suppose you have much discussion to do, and I won't keep you from it. Good night, my good people." With that, he started for the door. A man in the crowd called out, "Hey, Count, why is it that you could defend us, but not your own keep?"

Calmus stopped and turned back towards his questioner. "A fair question. Do you remember that knight, Jerell, who you sent to kill me?"

The council shifted nervously. "We didn't send…"

Calmus cut them off, "Don't be foolish, of course you did! Any blind idiot could see that he did not wander up to my keep because he was lost in the forest!" Calmus shook his head and sighed at their thin lie, then continued, "In any case, I had him in my service as a wight. He had agreed to this on the terms that I not take any more sacrifices. Thus, I had not eaten for many days, and was very weak." Calmus shrugged again. "If I had my strength, I would have driven them off and pursued them down their tunnels to make sure they never struck at me again. As it was, I was starving."

He turned away, and headed once again for the door. As his hand was on the handle, a familiar voice called out. "Hey, wait just a minute!"

He turned back once again in mild irritation to see Maggie standing out from the crowd, and addressing him. "You can't just leave!"

In response, Calmus swept his hand across the room. "Unless I am terribly mistaken, most of these people want me gone as soon as possible and as far away as possible. Am I mistaken?"

The crowd shook their heads, and many muttered, "No, you are not." and "We wish you had never come at all."

Calmus shrugged. "There you have it. I'll be taking my leave."

"No you won't! You made yourself our Count! You yourself said that we need to go back to the Empire if we know what's good for us. That makes you honor-bound to see us to safety."

Maggie turned back to the crowd. "Are we just going to head back to the Empire defenseless? What if we get attacked by bandits, or more Chaos, or anyone? We all know those roads aren't safe."

She turned back to Calmus. "Honor dictates that you defend us, at least to the safety of the Empire's borders."

Calmus chuckled. "Defend you people? With what, might I ask? Are you volunteering to be the source of my power?"

Maggie shook her head, but the crowd was mumbling amongst itself. Maggie had a point. They had no real weapons or armor, and a band of bandits or any such threat would surely overcome what fight they could muster. They were farmers, not soldiers. They needed a defense.

Calmus threw his hands in the air in mock exaggeration. "What say you, council?"

The council members looked at one another nervously, then whispered among themselves. They wanted Calmus gone, and if he was willing to go quietly, then so much the better; at least they were rid of him. But, Maggie had a point, if they were to return to the Empire, they were taking an awful risk without an escort. And what more powerful escort could they have?

Finally, one of them spoke, "This is a bit much for all of us to take in at once. It certainly isn't too much to ask to have another day to meet as a village and discuss the matter. Count Calmus, would you consider staying another day?"

Someone spoke up from the back, "He's a _killer_. If he wants to go them let him go, we will be the safer for it; we can handle our problems on our own. Get out, Count, and don't come back!"

Suddenly, Calmus found himself in a great struggle. He was tired, he was hungry, and he had used up just about all of his patience to deal with the formality of dismissing himself from these villagers; he wanted to be off to the central Court so that he could go, and feed; surround himself with other vampires and convince himself that feeding was noble and proper and right. In fact, he wanted to feed on one of these peasants right now, and give himself the strength to use his bat form. A part of him jumped at the chance, and his hand twitched.

On the other hand, the girl was right. He was honor bound to defend these people if they chose. And, the only reason he was still standing right now was Jerell's honor.

With that thought as his one overriding mental force, he overthrew the desire to feed, and instead curtly bowed,replying, "Of course, my good people. I had wished to satisfy your desire to see me gone, but if you insist, I will stay on." With that, he strode across the room to the hallway that led to his door. The peasant from before called after him, "Why should we trust you? Why should we?"

Calmus answered back, in a loud voice without turning his head, "Honor. Honor is why you are still alive at this moment, honor is why I am still alive at this moment, and honor is why you should trust one such as myself."

After that exchange, the council leaders broke up the meeting, telling everyone to meet back in the morning.

* * *

The next day, it was decided. The village as a whole knew that the drums of war were sounding all around them, with Skaven attacks and Chaos raids, and now was not the time to be found isolated and alone without protection. There was plenty of talk about staking Calmus while he was asleep instead, but Maggie's voice prevailed, and they agreed to take him along for protection, until they reached their destination, Fort Dolan, the closest Empire outpost. From there, they could find safe passage deeper into Empire territory. And, they would be rid of their unwanted Count.

A few days later, a caravan of several wagons, townsfolk, and livestock meandered slowly out of the town, down the mountain pass and down into the distant foothills, leaving the buildings behind stripped of valuables and abandoned; nobody was coming back. In one of the wagons, under a thick sheet of canvas and an even thicker traveling cloak, sat Count Calmus, grudgingly accompanying the caravan. The caravan just as grudgingly tolerated his presence, but they knew that he was their only defense should trouble befall them. And, everyone knew there was bound to be trouble.


	13. The Siege

Harvey ran back to the caravan as fast as he could, shouting as loud as he dared; "STOP! STOP! STOP MOVING!"

As soon as the first wagon drivers heard his maddened plea, they immediately pulled the horses to a halt, causing the rest of the train to follow suit. Harvey ran up to the lead wagon; it housed a sleeping Calmus in the back, and a few council members up front on the buckboard driving. Harvey flagged them down and stopped, quite out of breath.

One of the council members leaned down. "Well, son, I suppose you have a good reason for telling us to halt, other than that you might be sick of scouting."

Harvey couldn't answer at first, he could only catch his breath. Then, finally, he managed to sputter out, "Attack! Fort Dolan is under attack! We can't go any further or they'll spot us!"

The council members looked at each other with ashen faces. This was the last thing they needed. One of the members glanced into the back of the wagon; they had hoped to rid themselves of their unwanted ruler as soon as they got within sight of the city; now that was out of the question.

At Harvey's shouts, others had begun to gather around the wagon, muttering about what the matter was.

One of the members stood up, and addressed the gathering crowd: "It looks as if we have a problem here, folks. Let's not crowd Harvey and let's hear what he has to say." He turned his attention to the young scout. "Tell us all what you saw, son."

Harvey, having had a moment to catch his breath, gratefully grabbed at some water offered from the crowd. After he was done drinking, he spoke up,

"The Fort is under attack. Surrounded. It's a siege!"

At the crowd's collective gasp, he continued, "They have bolt throwers and standards everywhere, I couldn't count how many, but there are a lot gathered there; at least a thousand! The walls did not look good."

"Who were they, son?"

Harvey shook his head. "I don't know. I couldn't get close enough to see. All I know is, the banners don't look Brettonian, and I doubt the Empire is attacking their own fort.

"Dark Elves, then."

The voice was loud but collected, the tone a loud sigh. As one, they all turned to see Calmus standing there outside the wagon, still drenched in his voluminous cloak, and looking very sullen.

"How do you know?", a councilman asked.

"It's simple. There are only two races known to use bolt throwers; Humans and Elves. There are no conflicts with the high elves here; in this area. These forests hold no Wood Elves. That leaves only one possibility." His voice darkened. "The murderous Dark Elves."

The crowd began to mutter at that, began to mutter madly. Do we go back? Can we skirt around them? Will we be discovered? Is there any other place for us to run to?

These were the questions on everyone's lips, voiced and phrased a hundred different ways. The coucilmen tried to restore order, but they were having little effect. A mob was forming, but a mob that had no direction and no focus. Simply a mob of fear, that was threatening to break and run in any given direction.

Maggie was standing in the back, and she heard every word. She cursed. How was she _ever_ going to get out of this mess? It had been from the frying pan into the fire for her for months now; was she ever going to find a safe place? Shaking her head and pulling herself away from her own worries, she looked around at the mob and knew that a flash point was reaching. These people were scared, and they had nowhere to turn and no answers. They were like a boiling pot; and when that pot boiled over, there was only one outcome; the fastest few would steal the horses, and bolt like madmen. The rest would run after the horses and get lost in the woods. A few would stay behind, but with half the crowd missing and half of them lost, and darkness falling...chances for survival were not good. If the Dark Elves found a runner…everything would be over. It was about to happen, and Maggie found herself inching towards the horses.

Unless...

She had seen her father manage a mob once. The details were unimportant. What was important was that this mob was at the breaking point, and that was the perfect time to give it a focus. Something, anything, to crystallize around and stop the chaos. All of a sudden, she knew what she could do.

She jumped up onto the nearest wagon's buckboard, and screamed at the top of her lungs, "Everybody! LISTEN UP!"

As one, every face turned towards her. Just as had happened with her father. It was now or never, whether she came up with something good or whether she came up with nothing. If she came up short, everything would explode. But, she had a plan.

"We can save the fort! We can break the siege!"

The crowd started muttering again, seeming to totter back over to chaos. A lone voice rose above the rest, "Are you mad? We have no soldiers and no weapons!"

Maggie shook her head. She pointed out to the crowd, directly at a heavily cloaked figure. "Him."

Calmus looked at her, shocked, almost wondering if she was pointing at someone else. He was starving, what did she expect him to do, raise an army and counterattack? He called back across the crowd, "I haven't had blood for weeks, what do you expect me to do?"

Maggie had everyone's attention, and the mob was beginning to simmer down, now that there was something to focus on. She had to capitalize on it as soon as she could. She beckoned Calmus up to the buckboard, and he complied, still confused.

"THIS MAN", she called out, "Is going to save Fort Dolan!" She paused "WE are going to help him do it."

A voice from the crowd, "You mean feed that killer? I think not!"

The mob murmured its assent.

Calmus bowed his head. He had taken enough sacrifices. He was hungry, he knew it, but something had changed within him after the battle at his keep. He didn't want to feed on these people. Something had sparked the return of honor within him. Maybe it was Jerell's sacrifice, maybe it was the loss of his position as Count, he didn't know quite what it was. But, he didn't want any part of this. He thought for a moment, then spoke up, simply at first.

"Hear me."

These people didn't like him. In fact, they hated him and they wanted him gone. But, Calmus was of royal blood, and he still knew how to command respect from those he spoke to. At those two words, every eye, and every ear, was on him.

Maggie fell back against the wagon in relief. Her quick gamble had paid off. Calmus had the crowd's undivided attention now. Someone powerful was in control of the situation, and that control quenched the force of the mob from the crowd, like water poured onto a fire. The danger of chaos was past, only to be replaced by a new danger as Calmus spoke.

"I've caused you people enough trouble, and I'm sure you're glad to be rid of me. I honestly can't say that I blame you. But, as of right now, none of that matters." He thrust his hand backwards into the gathering night, where the fires of the Dark Elf army could be vaguely seen as a red glow over the crest of the rise. Fort Dolan is under attack. Hundreds of people are down there, and not all of them soldiers. People, civilians, just like you, families, children are down there. Let me make this clear. If we do not do something, they will all be dead come the morrow. If not then, in a few days' time. If Harvey saw the walls were crumbling, then the end is near."

He stopped for emphasis.

"The Dark Elves TAKE NO PRISONERS. Anyone who isn't killed in the initial attack will end up a human sacrifice, or worse. They will burn Fort Dolan to the ground and torture every survivor. The lucky ones will die. The unlucky ones will be tortured as slaves before they join the lucky ones."

Calmus paused again to let that sink in. The crowd was very unsure of itself now.

"What if there are reinforcements on the way?" one voice asked out in vain hope.

Calmus shook his head. "It is possible, but it would be foolish to count on such a remote possibility. This is a border fort, two day's ride from the next town. That town is a trade center, not a fort."

He paused, silently acknowledging the lone questioner. The crowd all knew that Calmus wished reinforcements would come. But, they would not. He spoke again to drive the point home.

"They will _all_ die."

After another pause, he spoke again.

"I can break the siege. But, it will be costly." He stared hundreds of faces down. "What I'm asking is not easy. But, whoever comes with me will save hundreds of lives with his sacrifice."

He looked up to the sky; the sun was fully set now, and the moon and the stars were out. A full moon.

He threw off his cloak and addressed them once more.

"I am going to head out into the woods a little ways off. If any one of you feels like being an unsung hero, then you can come with me. If not, then..." he paused. He felt sick. Sick for taking more lives. Something...was not the same within him, and he no longer wanted to do this. But, he had no choice. He looked helplessly at the people gathered before him. He couldn't ask them to sacrifice themselves. He had done so before, but again...yet, if he did not, the town below was as good as burned to the ground. With a helpless sigh, he finished his reluctant plea. "Then stay here and watch the innocent burn on all sides around you. The heavens will turn red with blood and fire if you do not come."

With that, he got down off of his makeshift podium, and walked slowly off into the night.

* * *

After a little while, a few came. Ten, twenty, thirty stalwart souls filtered in. Most of the council was there. Mostly older men, who had lived their lives already, and few older women, who wanted to see their grandchildren to safety. Calmus addressed them thus, "You are a brave few who come here tonight. I don't pretend that this was an easy choice to make. But, then again, bravery, honor, and valor were never easy choices. Neither is self sacrifice. You, my good fellows, are heroes in your own right." He paused, listening to his own growling stomach with a mixed feeling of anticipation and disgust. At this moment, however, disgust could not be permitted to win out, or many, many innocent lives would be lost. He felt the darker side of him, the curse, clamoring for blood. His control was tenuous now...and finally, he gave in. "Prepare yourselves for death.", he advised them

With that, he leaped on the nearest man with unnatural speed, and with a sickening sound, cracked his neck and began to drink. His eyes flared open, a sickly red glow emanating from the dilated pupils. With the last bit of his control, he spoke around a mouthful of blood, "If any of you want to live, now is the time to run."

A few broke and fled, and Calmus looked at the rest, still drinking in his kill.

A council member stepped forward to be next, "We know what we're here for. We won't sit by and watch them die."

Another nodded. "I want me family to make it to safety. We can't go back to the village, it isn't safe anymore. And we can't go through those elves. You're all we've got, and if this is what it takes, then so be it."

Calmus nodded, to all of them, and to the pale shadow in the trees that only he could see. With that, he completely lost control.


	14. Unleashed

Calmus strode up to the top of the ridge, keeping himself hidden for the time being. He was gorged with blood, more than he had ever taken before, and he could feel power as he had never felt before coursing through him. Blood dripped from his hands and his fangs. 'The blood of the innocent', a disgusted part of his mind reminded him as he licked his lips.

But, this was no time for morals or conscience, and so he shoved that part of his mind aside, and instead flashed a grim smile. A part of him was all too used to this. The time for battle had come. He looked at the full moon. This was his hour.

As he gazed intently at the full moon high overhead, a wolf howled in the forest. At first, it was only one. Then it was two. Calmus stared harder, deeper, into the cold, white light. Three, long, mournful howls echoed from the trees, then four.

The cold white light had an errie resemblance to bone, Calmus decided.

The howls grew ever louder and more frequent.

Calmus' smile stretched out to split his entire face in a wicked, inhuman grin.

Bone...

The howls all stopped. Then, as one, they broke the night air in a chilling cry of the hunt. Calmus pointed a long, thin arm ahead, then slowly raised a withered hand, and a long, almost skeletal finger. A flight of bats flickered overhead, blotting out the stars for a moment. They chattered excitedly, their harsh cries informing Calmus that more were on their way. Many more. A small smirk crossed his already grinning face, as the trees around him came alive with pack after pack of wolves, both living and dead heeding the dark calling.

This was the hour of the vampire.

Calmus' face lost its grin then, replaced by a cold, hard, set face, one ready for a tough battle ahead. His voice boomed above the howling of his bloodhounds in a single, implacable command:

"SEEK!"

As his packs rushed ahead into the night, Calmus walked slowly forwards, thirty zombies of the brave men in tow. He gazed through the darkness as though through a clear day, and saw the dark elves slowly moving most of their bolt throwers, and the bulk of their forces, to the other side of the keep, shrouded from the humans by a shimmering dark material. It covered the bolt throwers, and the troops wore cloaks of the same shimmering cloth. It made their movements shifting shadows in the night, masking their passage even in the light of the full moon. The few bolt throwers left behind started to fire on the weakest looking part of the wall, intentionally missing the most vulnerable cracks.

Calmus narrowed his eyes. A diversion. The dark elves must have weakened two sections of the wall, on opposite ends of the keep. And now they were drawing the human defenders to the wrong side, making the way clear for them to focus their fire on the remaining side, and sweep into the city for a rear attack before the humans could regroup.

Calmus nodded in appreciation. It was a clever plan. But, even the most clever plans could not account for every eventuality.

Calmus stopped, closed his eyes, and reached out with his newfound power surging through him, mentally seeking the site of a battle or a skirmish between the two forces; he was going to need zombies to win. A part of him cringed, it offended his renewed honor to use the dead bodies of soldiers this way. But that part had lost control for the time being, and so Calmus reached further, probing with his cursed senses, until he found what he was looking for. Near the Dark Elf camp, dozens, dozens of bodies lay, several feet under the ground, all human. Calmus paused for a moment, puzzled. Why would the dark elves bury humans near their camp? As he reached farther, feeling the position of the bodies, it all became clear.

Spike traps. These humans had been part of a daring raid group, probably trying to sabotage the bolt throwers and break the siege. But the dark elves had been the cleverer, rigging their camp with traps for just such an event. That investment had paid off.

Calmus opened his eyes again, as the high pitched, frenzied scream of a dark elf battle horn broke the silence of the night. A feint strike force was headed to the false attack point, and the human defenders within were doubtless fooled. The dark elves with the real strike force now shed their cloaks and began to move faster, the bolt throwers moving into position, and firing, and the troops swarming forwards.

In their haste and bloodlust, the elves failed to notice a slight change. Dark elves possessed natural night vision, so when the moonlight was lost, they hardly even noticed. They were so focused on the crumbling wall ahead of them, as the low twang of the bolt throwers began to play, that they failed to notice the moon go dark, as a monstrous swarm of bats blotted it from the sky.

* * *

Calmus ignored the feint force, as it was simply a feint and was not large enough to swarm the fort. The Dark Elves, wallowing in their martial superiority, had made a tactical error. Within their real strike force, they had sent all of the troops to the fore to be ready when the wall collapsed; they had left none to guard the bolt throwers.

Calmus' wolves charged out of the shadows, their pads silent on the grassy plain, as silent as the throats of the unfortunate bolt thrower engineers. As the bolt throwers lapsed into motionlessness, the advancing troops were quick to notice their absence. Calmus took that moment to sow confusion in the ranks, and his bat swarm descended. The living bats swooped out of the sky towards the advancing force, thousands of mouths blasting in a cacophony of noise. Yet they did not bite, they did not attack, they simply screeched and wheeled about in the midst of the troops, shocking them and casting their focus and discipline to the wind. Why had their bolt throwers gone silent? Why had this swarm of rodents descended to harass them, at this critical moment no less? Slowly, inexorably the dreaded answer dawned on the army, foot solders and officers alike; they were too close to Sylvanian lands, and a vampire had decided to make his presence known.

This knowledge was accompanied by the sounds of splintering wood and the loud twang of taut bowstrings breaking, as Calmus' giant, undead Fel Bats soared down onto the now unguarded bolt throwers, tearing crucial parts away and gnawing at the strings until they snapped from the tension they were under. As soon as the job was done, both groups of bats wheeled away once again into the air, flying and shrieking madly above the scene, the bat-eclipsed moon now conspicuous by its absence. The Dark Elf army stopped its advance and drew into a tight circle, weapons held at the were quite unsure of themselves now; their bloodlust was not sated, but now it was directed at a new, unknown enemy. The officers hesitantly called a retreat, ignoring the humans for the time being, and they started back to their camp to regroup. If only the enemy would show itself...

* * *

Calmus had already arrived at the camp with his thirty zombies, finding it deserted, and had looked down into the spike pits, reflecting for a moment. A sorry, dishonorable way to die. They had been part of a stealth attack on the enemy camp, and that in itself carried a certain dishonor. But, not like this.

The pale shadow had long since come and gone; there were no lingering spirits here. But, Calmus could guess what the last wish of these men might have been. He opened his mouth wide, and in a booming voice that could be heard clearly by the returning force of Dark Elves, he cried out a question:

"Oh ye dishonored dead! Ye brave yet fallen ones! What do you cry out for?"

He paused, as if hearing an answer from the mute corpses.

"Vengeance, you say?"

Calmus dropped his arms to his sides, then slowly lifted a hand up as he spoke. "Then arise, ye broken defenders! Arise, and face your killers!"

In a bone-chilling response, the dead mouths all spoke as one:

"We arise."

The approaching dark elves looked on in horror as their clever spike traps vomited forth dozens upon dozens of warriors, crawling forth from the earth to array themselves around the mysterious newcomer.

"You should have stayed within your own borders, elves." Calmus advised them. "Your plans were clever, but now they are undone."

Calmus paused as more zombies continued to claw their way forth from the cold ground to meet the approaching army. Then, raised an open hand to the air and addressed his enemies once more:

"Now, join us!"

A hundred empty eye sockets gazed blankly, aimlessly into the night. An emptiness that spoke of an enemy like a flood; that could not be tricked, outwitted, or intimidated. An enemy that knew no fear or mercy.

Hundreds of lifeless, rotting hands grasped once more with newfound strength at discarded weapons, swords and maces rising into the night once more. Flesh hung off of arm bones in tatters as once silent weapons rose again and pointed at their opponents for a second, unnatural retaliation.

And out of a hundred slit throats, choked with clotted blood and twisted by the throes of death, arose a single cry. The sound burst forth past a thousand rotted teeth at once; a mournful dirge resonating through the night air,

"Join us."

A hundred empty eye sockets gazed emptily at their killers; an emptiness that quickly changed to mindless, fervent hunger. Rotting mouths took on hideous, humorless grins, and the eyes almost seemed alight with balefire.

Out of a hundred lifeless lungs, an eager call crawled through the night,

"Join us!"

A hundred eye sockets now filed with burning, blazing, blinding fire, focused wildly on their killers. Rotting mouths opened wide for the feast, spewing forth a rotten cry; a hundred lifeless tongues clearly sounding the frenzied refrain, tearing through the distance between them in a dread crescendo,

"JOIN US IN DEATH!"

With that, the zombies raised their weapons high and charged, a low yellow light surrounding them in a sickening haze; twisted magics granting them unnatural life and even more unnatural power and speed. Slashed feet and torn boots pounded the earth in a crushing stampede, broken, twisted knees pumping forward with unnatural motion.

A bone-chilling laugh echoed from Calums' mouth. It was not a humorless laugh, it informed the dark elves in no uncertain terms that he was enjoying himself immensely; and that he had no fear of them. With a mighty shout of glee, he sprouted monstrous bat wings and parted the chill night air as he took flight, stopping a good distance up to survey the battlefield before diving down to charge with his undead horde, his bare hands reaching out for the blood of his enemies.

"DEVOUR!", Calmus roared. "Drag them to the grave!"

The bats descended, the wolves howled, and all was madness as the unliving charged forward with the speed, power, and implacable dead weight of a raging floodwater front.


	15. Battle For The Fort

As Calmus flapped his wings and rose into the air once more, he was outwardly shouting with maddened glee but inwardly cool and calculated. He was not one to underestimate his opponents; he knew he didn't have the zombies to overwhelm the Dark Elves. Their army numbered about a thousand in total, including the feint force troops that were not fighting him. He only had just over a hundred zombies to face the seven hundred Dark Elves in the real attack force. Outnumbered seven to one. And the Dark Elves were not to be trifled with in close quarters; as soon as his unnatural haste spell wore off, his zombies would fall like wheat.

But Calmus knew what advantage he did have. Fear. The Dark Elves had no place in their society for honor or valor; simply strength and cunning. Which was something he could exploit. At the moment, what was primarily holding the Dark Elf force together was their overwhelming numbers and their officers. He screamed out once more as he dove down,

"More! Come, rise up to fight! More, More, More!"

At that, a squad of Dark Elves broke and fled. They didn't know that Calmus was bluffing; they were unnerved enough by the bats and the zombies; and the prospect of being surrounded did not appeal to them. Their Dreadlord commander screamed at them to return, then spat on the ground and roared an order to the rest of the army. Calmus could not understand the words, but he understood the meaning clearly enough; that squad was to be executed.

Calmus smirked. There had been over fifty men in that squad. Now, for a little more pressure before the Dreadlord could rally his forces.

As the lines crashed on, Calmus' zombies were still surrounded by the sickening yellow glow; and they leapt forth with unnatural speed and strength, overwhelming parries and striking before their opponents could set a guard. As the first wave crashed, the zombies pushed through the first ranks of Dark Elves with little trouble; their arms were blurs of the aura, trailing the plagued yellow haze, their feet pounded the ground as they leapt from opponent to opponent, and even the seasoned Dark Elves fell back from the mighty onslaught, leaving a hundred dead and dying on the field.

While he still had the advantage, Calmus swooped in from the sky, snatching a helpless Dark Elf soldier clean off the ground and breaking his neck in the process. The sky was so full of maddened bats that the poor soldier never knew what hit him. His instinctive sword swing went wild, and the weapon fell from his lifeless hands, impaling another Dark Elf in the ranks below as Calmus took to the sky. The pale shadow flew swiftly by, and Calmus began to drink, replenishing his powers and soaring out of sight into the air thick with bats. Once he was finished, he looked for the most skittish squad that he could find, and dropped the drained soldier right in front of the officer, booming out,

"You, elf, are next! You will die like him!"

The officer, his face pale as he gazed upon his lifeless comrade, was shocked to see his fellow soldier abruptly lunge at him, his eyes bank and empty. The officer recoiled from the dead man, now a zombie, and with a quick look at the rest of his troops, broke and ran. He was soon followed by the rest of his squad. Calmus smiled grimly. Good. They were more afraid of him than of their commander at the moment; and that was what he needed most.

Unfortunately for him, something else that he needed was now in dire straits; his supply of zombies had lost their aura. As the yellow glow faded away, the zombies returned to normal; simple, shambling brutes who could only reach aimlessly at their opponents, and swipe or stab mindlessly in the general direction of the living.

At once, the Dreadlord shouted a mighty battle cry, and the Dark Elves rallied; Calmus gazed on in unsurprised dismay as the tide of battle sharply reversed. His zombies were cut down in droves; in only minutes; his entire force lay unmoving on the ground, and the Dark Elves had not lost a single soldier since the yellow glow had dissipated.

Calmus knew he had to take the opportunity now, while he had it. He soared above the elves through the haze of screaming bats, and glanced at the two fleeing squads. That was good, but he would need far more than that. As the Dark Elf forces began to rally, he called out with an amused laugh.

"Proud of yourselves for killing a few zombies? Glad to kill the humans raiders again?"

He waited for a response, but got none; the Dreadlord was not feeling talkative.

Calmus shrugged, and landed back behind his lines of dead zombies, watching the pale shadow pass over the dead elves and inwardly bracing himself; this was going to take much of his strength. As the Dark Elves charged his position, he waited until they had passed over the bodies of his troops, and then suggested, "Well, then, if you enjoyed yourselves so much, I'll oblige you to try it again!"

He raised his hand, and spoke a, single, implacable command; "Arise!"

Hundreds of dead lips spoke, decapitated heads opening their eyes once more and uttering the dreaded words once again;

"We arise."

Every zombie that had been put down, no matter how mutilated, surged back on its feet, joined by the bodies of the dead Dark Elves, doubling their numbers. And now, the zombies were not a cohesive force to be faced in ordered columns of disciplined soldiers; now they were in the very midst of the elves who had marched over them seconds before. All was chaos as hundreds of zombies arose in the ranks, and elves hacked and slashed madly to keep from being dragged down. Many succeeded, but an unlucky few did not.

As chaos spread, Calmus called out, "SEEK!", once more, and wolves lithely shot out of the forest like a flight of arrows to harass the exposed Dark Elf flanks. Fel Bats glided down out of the swarm like hawks to snatch and carry their prey into the sky to their doom; a few Dark Elves were quick enough to impale the Fel Bats before they could escape back to the skies with their prey, but most were so focused on the zombies, and blinded and deafened by the ever-present cloud of shrieking bats, that they never knew what hit them.

As five more squads broke and fled, the Dreadlord cried out his mighty threat of death for any who deserted the field of battle; but it was lost on the outskirts of the battlefield in the cacophony of shrieking bats.

Calmus narrowed his eyes; the Dreadlord was the one focus point this army had left; without him, their morale would crumble and the battle was won.

But, Calmus knew he was no match for the Dreadlord; Calmus knew his swordplay, but Dreadlords were the fighting elite of the Dark Elves; he would not last. And, he only had the strength left to raise the zombies once more; after that he was spent. A daring plan flashed into his mind, and without waiting to deliberate, he took flight.

It was now or never, if he waited, if he hesitated, the elves would finish killing his zombies, the Dreadlord would rally, and the fear that had been steadily building in the elivish army would be gone. He could raise the zombies again, but once the elves dispatched them, he had no more cards left to play. He had to act now, before the Dreadlord could restore order.

From his aerial vantage point, he cried out, "You! Dreadlord! You will be my next victim!"

At that, under the cover of his bat swarm, he drew his cloak over his body, and, under the cloak, unsheathed his sword, holding the flat of it lengthwise across his chest, one hand on the handle, the other on the blade, slicing uncomfortably through his glove. With a mighty flap of his wings, he dove down and yelled out, "Prepare for death!"

As he dove towards his target, archers fired at him, but their arrows were all knocked from their path by the swarm of bats. The Dreadlord looked him straight in the eye as he charged, and his look spoke more clearly than his voice ever could; 'you will be the one to die.'

As Calmus sped downward, the Dreadlord held his sword straight out; pointing with unerring accuracy at Calmus' heart. He was no fool; once his vampiric opponent was skewered through the heart, he would crumble into dust, and with his passing, the entire undead force would turn to ashes and the bats would flee and disperse. He smirked. If this was over quickly, he might even get to crush the humans this night as well; as long as the feint force still had their bolt throwers. He grinned a wicked grin as his foolish opponent bore down on him out of the sky; a glorious night of conquest still awaited! And now he would have a vampire's skull to add to his sizable trophy stand. As the two opponents met, the Dreadlord's one thought, his only focus, was how the Vampire was going to try to squirm out of the way, and how he was going to need to move his sword to deliver the fatal blow.

What the Dreadlord did not know was that Calmus was holding his sword blade directly over his heart, hidden under his cloak.

The Dreadlord was incredibly surprised when the Vampire did not attempt to dodge at all. He was even more surprised when, on impact, his blade clanged loudly off of steel, and slid a few crucial inches down as it hit; piercing the Vampire clean through but missing his heart. As the Vampire, still flying at breakneck speed, slid down his sword blade with unstoppable force, the Dreadlord raised his head slightly and locked eyes with his opponent. In one eye, all he saw was sadness, sorrow, and weakness. Pathetic. In the other eye, he saw a hard, tactical, ruthless focus. He saw the entirely of that focus directed at him. He smiled. If he was to be killed, at least it was by a worthy opponent. As he looked Calmus straight in the eyes as he bore down on him, he knew what was going to happen. He knew that he had no way of stopping it. As Calmus slid down his opponent's blade, he twisted the sword in his own hands around so that the flat was no longer outwards but now was pointed down, and the edge was headed straight for the Dreadlord's neck. It all happened so fast that Calmus was uncertain how he managed to get the sword twisted around in time. He shoved forwards with all of his strength, badly cutting the hand that was holding the sword's blade in the process. But, it paid off. As Calmus slammed into the Dreadlord's body, the Elven blade buried to the hilt just below his heart, he saw his opponent's head fall to the earth, cleanly decapitated in Calmus' wild gamble. He thought he heard spoken words from the lifeless lips before they hit the ground, and, if he remembered any Elvish from his schooling at all, the words were, "Well played." The pale shadow passed swiftly and was gone.

As the elves surrounding their leader looked on, first in complete shock, and then in cold calculation of whether or not they could overwhelm the Vampire with sheer numbers, Calmus wasted no time. Already hunched over the body of his slain opponent, the elves did not see him grimace and stumble, his entire body aching with the effort of draining the last of his powers. They only heard, in terror, the dreaded monotone echo across the battlefield once again, more hauntingly and more menacingly than the last,

"We arise."

Every bit of progress that the elves had managed to gain against the zombies was once again erased, as even more now rose.

With the loss of their leader, the loss of their cohesion, and the continued harassment from the bats and wolf packs, the last round of zombies proved too much. Dark Elf society had one primary, overriding rule, strength through survival. At the moment, with their strength poured vainly into a never ending flood of the undead, and their leader vanquished, their survival was becoming of primary importance.

Dark Elf society also had a rule about running from combat; there was no penalty, except that your leader was allowed to kill you in whatever way he saw fit if he ever caught you.

Since their leader was dead, this rule no longer carried much weight.

The elves, acting on their racial instincts, broke and fled as one. The zombies were easily outdistanced; but the wolves and bats continued to nip at their heels until they were far from Calmus' sight. Once the wolves had run far away enough from Calmus, he lost control of the living ones, and they returned to their dens; the undead ones simply crumbled away at the elves' heels. As Calmus remained, crouched over the body of the Dreadlord, he felt his powers drain away, and he lost control of his flying minions. The bat swarms careened madly away into the night back to their caves; the Fel Bats dropping from the sky in their wake like birds shot down by a skilled archer.

They left Calmus alone with the walking dead; still giving mindless chase to the Dark Elves, who were now long gone.

Calmus rose unsteadily to his feet, looking in the direction of the retreating Dark Elves. If he knew what they were like, they would not return for a counterattack. Their hatred was great, but their utilitarianism was greater; deprived of their bolt throwers, their supplies, and their commander, the fact that they still had their numbers would not be enough. They would return home, empty handed, with tales of how they had cheated death at the hands of a vampire.

Calmus turned his gaze to the feint force, and was not entirely surprised to see the bolt throwers abandoned and the Dark Elves gone.

Calmus shook his head. He had done it. He hadn't managed to kill many of them; he guessed he had only killed less than two hundred out of the thousand strong army. But he, with the help of the elves' own prudent cowardice, had managed to rout their army.

He sighed. He even knew where they were likely headed; a cave complex that Galreh had marked on the map, on a scouting run.

Calmus smirked. He wondered if they would make the caves by dawn. Dark Elves did not fear the sun, but they disliked it so intensely that-

Suddenly, Calmus was brought back to reality from his reflections. The dawn...

He looked to the east, to the lightening sky that he had been too engrossed in combat to notice. He turned his face just as the sun broke the horizon, its searing rays lancing down and illuminating a completely speechless expression.


	16. Aftermath

**A/N: Thanks SN6494900 for the review! I'm still waiting on some beta corrections for these last few chapters, but I just wanted to get them up. Edit: Now I've got the beta corrections in.  
**

As dawn broke the sky, the anxious, nervous villagers sent a very apprehensive Harvey Tanner over the rise to see what had become of the desperate bid to break the siege.

The mood in the camp was one of exhaustion, suspicion, and confusion. Not so long ago, things had been fine. They had been living peacefully in their mountain village, and then, all sorts of problems had poured down on them; the beastmen, Calmus, and now, driven from their mountain home by fear of what was to come their way next, they found their way blocked by yet another obstacle, yet another armed enemy force; and they were beginning to reach the edge. They had food for the trip, (plenty, now that thirty or so of their number were gone) but they had already begun to ration it out. The mob mentality of the night before was beginning to make a slow return; some were thinking of stealing what they could and leaving the others, making their own break for survival. But, it was all talk so far; there was no impetus as of yet. All were waiting to see what had become of their mysterious Count. The entire camp had heard shouts and screams all through the night; and they knew that the man had kept his word, doing all that he could to break the siege and free the fort. A few had gone to bury the remains of those who had bravely sacrificed themselves for the sake of those trapped inside the fort. But, when they arrived at the clearing, they found it deserted. Bitterly, they knew that the men had been used as zombies in the fight.

But, now, as everyone awaited Harvey's return with baited breath, they wondered what would become of them. If Calmus had failed, what could they do? Go back and await another invasion? Try to skirt the enemy force?

If Calmus had succeeded, then what would he do with them? It was difficult for anyone to guess what was driving him; he acted one moment like the vampiric Count that he was, taking lives and demanding sacrifices, and the next he acted like he wanted to be anywhere but escorting the group of people who had so unwillingly accepted his aid, anywhere but next to a warm body that he could drink. It was easy to see that he was having a great internal struggle, but how that struggle was playing out was anyone's guess. As the camp stewed apprehensively in the light of the morning dawn, Harvey came back. Pushing his way through the crowd, he finally reached a wagon, where he jumped up on the buckboard so that he could address everyone.

"Ok, listen up!" He yelled, and the murmuring crowed turned its attention to the young boy.

"I looked out over the rise, and the whole field around the fort looks pretty torn up. There's holes everywhere, dead bodies, and a bunch of wrecked bolt-throwers." He paused, shaking his head in amazement. "But, no elves. I didn't see a moving soul. I saw smoke rising from the fort, but it looked like cooking fires, not like the town was burning." He shrugged. "That's all. I guess that man Calmus kept his word." He paused. "The dark elves are gone."

At that, the crowd let out a collective sigh of relief. "And what of Calmus? Did you see him?"

Harvey shook his head. "Not a trace. I didn't go down to the field to do any searching, though."

A voice spoke up, "Well, good riddance! Let those evil scum kill each other! I hope he died down there, then we'll be rid of him!"

"Watch your tounge!" Maggie yelled out from among the crowd. "He saved that whole fort!"

"Yeah, and he took thirty of our brave men to do it!"

Harvey shook his head and spoke up before a row began; "Well, it doesn't matter what happened to him; if he isn't back here, then he's gone, one way or another. Let's head down to that fort and get inside before something else happens."

The crowd took an immediate liking to that suggestion, and quickly broke up and began packing what little they had taken down back onto the wagons and mules. Within the space of a quarter hour, they were on the move.

* * *

As they passed over the field past the bodies of the fallen, Harvey called a stop. "It just ain't right."

"What's that?" somebody called back.

Harvey turned, and addressed the rest of the village, "Some of our people are out here, some of those fort's soldiers are out here too. It ain't right to leave em out here for the crows." He hopped down from the wagon, and pointed to the row of holes. "We need to bury em."

"Who put you in charge? I say we get behind those walls as quick as we can," a nameless voice called out from among the crowd.

Harvey snorted derisively. "Too chicken to honor our own dead, are you? Fine, then. I'll do it alone."

That got the crowd moving along a different track, and many stepped down to assist him. They grabbed all the bodies, steeling themselves against the smell of fresh carrion, to check for their fellow villagers. But many were so mutilated from being raised again and again by Calmus that they could not tell who was who. So they picked a hole for the elves and a hole for the humans, and simply dragged them over and dumped them in, not knowing that those holes had been deadly spike traps.

Maggie was doing her share; she was going back for her fourth body when she saw what looked like Calmus' cloak on the ground a little ways off in the distance. Curious, she started over to it. As she got closer and closer, she could smell charred flesh, and could see that there was a lump under the cloak. She rushed over; had he made it?

She pushed the cloak aside until she heard a cry of pain and saw a sizzle of smoke, and suddenly dropped it back, realizing what had happened; he was still alive, but the sun had burned him, and he was stuck under the cloak, weakened.

"Who are you?" a muffled, weak voice spoke from under the thick, protective garment.

"It's Maggie." She replied. "Glad to see you made it."

A weak nod from underneath, and the lump stirred. "I suppose so."

Slowly, painfully, keeping himself shielded with the heavy cloak all the while, Calmus rose to a sitting position, then stood up, as Maggie called back and yelled, "I found him! He's still alive!"

Some of the crowd stopped what they were doing and walked over to meet them, most apprehensive.

As they walked over, Calmus could see in their eyes what was on their mind. Fear. And, at this juncture, with him weakened and in broad daylight, he could see that more than a few were ready and willing to rid themselves of the source of that fear. He could see who the instigators would be, and he knew it would be easy for them to stir up the rest of the already frightened and unhinged crowd against him. A quick stake through the heart, off with his head, and a pyre…it would be over in less than an hour, he could see it already. He shrugged. Not even that; all they had to do was remove his cloak and he would burn to death in the sun. He turned his head towards the woods. Run? No, they would catch him, and he had no way to fend them off in the daylight. If one of them caught him and he lost his cloak, it was over. So what was left? He smirked; a mirthless smile. Diplomacy. Wasn't it always?

He settled on catching them off guard by addressing them first. "Well, how do you like my handiwork?"

The crowd looked out over the battlefield, and gave him no response.

Calmus pressed his verbal advantage. "I see you are burying the dead. Allow me help. This is my mess, after all." Calmus could not raise any zombies in his condition and at this hour, and but he managed to grab hold of a body and start dragging it. Confounded by his behavior, the instigators decided to wait for a better opportunity to stir up the crowd and simply followed suit, picking up more bodies and dragging them back to the pits.

Once they were through with the bodies, Calmus weakly ascended a wagon, and addressed the crowd before his enemies could get a mob started. "Well, my good people, I am afraid that this is where we part, no doubt to your well-deserved relief." He pointed to the fort, whose gates had still not opened. "If I know anything of military protocol, and as a Count I most certainly do, then that fort will evacuate to the nearest town after such heavy losses. You will find no shelter at the fort, but you will find that a caravan will be leaving soon, likely for Braddock. I suggest that you head for the fort without delay, and I further suggest that you do not mention your reluctant association with me; merely tell them that you were fleeing the savage vampire who had attacked the dark elves. Which, as a matter of fact, is not entirely untrue. With that, my good people, I bid you good day, and good luck. I am sure that, once deep within the Empire's borders, you will find some gainful employment and a life of safety. I wish you well."

With that, he disembarked, and limped through the crowd, who parted a good way ahead of him. They all looked at him suspiciously, as if wondering if they were really to be rid of him this easily. Some suspected a trap. He was leaving too quickly.

As Calmus reached the edge of the crowd, he heard murmurs to that effect; some were whispering that he was simply retreating to regain his strength, then he would attack the caravan on its way back to Braddock. Sighing, Calmus turned around and loudly asked, "Well, what are you waiting for?" He gestured with a heavily robed arm to the fort. "Don't stand about on my account; get moving. Thirty of your own people died so that you could come this far, what on earth are you waiting for?"

At that, the crowd's collective desire for the safe haven of the fort drowned out its collective fear and hatred of Calmus, and with the cracking of reins and the shuffle of feet, the train started moving as one. Within minutes, it was going at a full clip, people running ahead of the wagons, the drivers spurring the horses to catch up.

It wasn't long before the whole crowd was within earshot of the fort's walls, leaving a heavily robed figure behind. And, additionally, one more figure stood out on the plains as the caravan drove off.

Calmus started at Maggie, who had simply stood where she was while the rest of the crowd had moved on; now she alone stood on the plain in the light of the morning sun with the Count.

He chuckled. "What's the matter? Can't get enough of my good company?"

She turned to him, looking at the ground, and Calmus noticed that she was a bit pale. "Are they really going to abandon that fort and head for Braddock?"

Calmus shrugged. "I can't say for sure, but back before I was turned, that was standard military protocol. Those walls won't stand another assault, so the commander, or whoever is in charge now, will have to send the women and children back to the nearest town of any size. With the losses they took, all of the solders will need to escort them there. The fort will be overrun with bandits for a little while once it is abandoned, until the local duke decides that he wants to retake it. Then, they will move in, seize the fort, and reconstruct the walls." Calmus shrugged again. "That's how it usually works. In this situation, the nearest town is Braddock, so that is their likely destination."

Maggie didn't move, she just kept staring at the ground. Calmus prompted her. "Something wrong?" He looked out towards the fort, and it had opened its gates to the refugees; apparently their haggard appearance and the bat swarm last night had helped the fort's commander buy the story that they were fleeing from a vampire. "You had best hurry, or you'll miss your caravan."

Maggie was silent for a moment, then said, "I can't go with them."

"Oh? Why not, pray tell?"

"I….I cannot return to Braddock."

Calmus cocked his head. He was weary, but everything was over for the moment, and this intrigued him. "Why not?"

Maggie looked at the ground for a little while, as if she hadn't heard his question. Then, she nodded her head shortly, her mind made up. She brought her head up, and said, "Take me with you."

Calmus threw back his head and laughed; he almost lost his hood. "Take you with me? Where, might I ask?"

Maggie shrugged. "I don't know, where are you going?"

Calmus put his hand on his chin for a moment, pondering. "Well, let's see…"

He pointed a long, fully robed arm to the east, the direction from where they had come. "That way lies the ruins of my keep. Dark days. No reason to return there."

He pointed south. "That way lies the Count's Court. I could return there, and tell them about the Skaven attack. They would reprimand me, and then draw me more tightly into their fold; I would utterly lose what Jerell had shown me."

He pointed to the west. "That way lies the Empire; plenty of food for one such as myself, but also the Inquisition. A bountiful kitchen, perhaps, but one well stocked with watchful cats on the prowl for thieving mice." He smirked. "Or bats. No, I would live in constant fear until I was discovered and burned alive by those overzealous watchdogs."

He turned to the north. "And there lie the Chaos. What shall I do, go and join them? If they did not kill me on sight?" He cocked his head. "Or shall I fight the Chaos like some lone hero? What will I fight them with? The blood of more innocents?"

He dropped his arm, and turned to face Maggie. "You tell me, lost little peasant girl. You tell me. Where shall I go?"

Maggie gazed back into the shadowed depths of his hood that shielded him from the killing rays of sunlight. "For one, I am not a lost peasant."

Calmus shrugged. "Could have fooled me. Dutchess, then, if you prefer", Calmus responded snidely. "Now answer my question, then, Dutchess. Where shall I take you, if you want to come with me?"

He gestured once more to the fort. "That was a rhetorical question. It was meant for effect, not to be answered. Now, go and face whatever is waiting for you in Braddock."

Maggie shook her head. "I can't."

Calmus sighed in exasperation, "What could possibly be so bad there that you cannot return?"

Maggie shrugged. "Take me with you and I'll tell you."

"Where, Dutchess?" he mocked. "If you are not a peasant, as you claim, then surely you know where to go?"

Maggie turned aside; he had a point, after all. West. Braddock. No. North. Chaos and wasteland that way. Not a chance. East. Not back to the old keep. South. More vampires, and … "What did you say about South?", she asked.

"That is where the Count's Court is." Calmus replied.

"No, no, you said something else about it."

"That I would lose what Jerell had shown me."

Maggie looked puzzled. "Which was?"

"Jerell saved my life, when he could easily and gladly have let me die. He showed me that there is still such a thing as honor."

Maggie still looked puzzled. "Well, then, what are you going to do with your honor?"

Calmus chuckled. "Seeing as I will starve unless I kill and eat innocents, I suppose the only honorable thing to do would be to die. But, I can't quite bring myself to do that. So, I have no answers."

Maggie shrugged. "You could kill criminals."

Calmus shook his head. "I'm afraid not. If I were to do that, I would need to reside in a city. Some of my brethren have adapted to either escaping the Inquisition or hunting the hunters, but I am not so adroit. If I attempted that, I would be discovered and burned alive. Besides, only the worst criminals are deserving of death, and they are hard to find. I couldn't feed on petty thieves honorably."

Maggie thought a moment in the silence. "I wonder what Jerell would say."

Calmus shrugged. "I don't know. But, I would like to know." He looked around. "I can't seem to see much of a future for me anywhere, unless I want to give up any honor that I had and return to the Count's court."

"Well, then." Maggie said cheerfully, seizing on the first thing to come up, "How about we find out what Jerell would have said. Isn't that enough? Can we go to Jerell's hometown and investigate him a bit? I know where it is, he told me. We could skirt the big cities where the Inquisition is thickest until we get there."

She couldn't tell what Calmus' facial expression was under the hood, but she was guessing that it was one of either incredulity or humor. Perhaps both. He let out something halfway between a sigh and a chuckle. "Well, I suppose that the only way to get out of this sun is to agree with you. I suppose I don't have anything better to do."

Maggie quickly walked up to him and agreed. "Neither do I. Let's be off, then."

Calmus looked back to the fort thoughtfully, aching in the sun. "Are you sure you want to lead me on some fool's errand rather than go back with your own people?"

Maggie nodded her head resolutely. "Yes. Those aren't really my people, and it was too late the moment I knew they were headed for Braddock. I'm glad you mentioned it, or I would be in a much tighter spot than leading you on a fool's errand. Besides, "she added brightly, "we may find out something interesting about Jerell."

Calmus nodded, knowing that this would delay the inevitable at least, and they started walking towards the woods, northwest around the fort that they could now hear buzzing with activity, even from this far away. The preparations for evacuation were under way. "Yes", Calmus muttered. He didn't really know why he was doing this, he knew only that he had nowhere else to go, and nothing else to hope for. "Yes, I suppose we might."

"That's the spirit!", Maggie chimed in, as they passed under the sheltering boughs of the trees.


	17. Travel

Calmus and Maggie skirted the fort and gave Braddock a wide berth, heading northwest towards Jerell's Brettonian homeland. They set a slow pace, for even in the shade of the trees, Calmus could still feel the biting rays of the sun through his cloak, making him ache all over, and he was weak. As night fell, Calmus felt stronger and stronger, picking up the pace, but Maggie was beginning to lag behind. Eventually, they decided to rest for the night; they started a fire and Maggie ate some scrounged berries; neither of them was very adroit at hunting for small game.

As they sat around the fire, Calmus threw off his hood, and Maggie looked up at him in shock. "Calmus, your face…"

Cocking his head, Calmus put his hand to his face, and felt scars. Scars, but when…?

The sun.

He had not noticed the pain because his entire body felt a slight ache from the sun even under the cloak, but it must have happened when the dawn broke. He felt his entire face, and most of it was scarred, but he couldn't feel a thing. "Is it that bad?", he asked.

Maggie nodded. "Well, it's pretty bad. I can hardly recognize you. Did that happen in the battle?"

Calmus chuckled. "No, I was standing without my hood when the dawn broke. That's all."

Maggie averted her gaze from his scarred face, and then suddenly had an idea. "Well, at least now we have a good story to tell anyone whom we happen across. You are a relative of mine, and you were hurt working, that's why you have the burns. And I'm accompanying you back to some family so that your burns can be treated and you can recover."

Calmus laughed a bit, supposing that it was plausible enough. "And where do I work that would get burns like this? I don't have the build for a blacksmith."

Maggie shrugged. "I don't know, a jeweler's assistant. His kiln blew up in your face."

Calmus nodded. Good enough.

He looked up at the sky, still unsure of why he was here or what on earth he was going to do, but at least he had this fool's errand to occupy his time for the moment and delay the inevitable. Once it was over, he would have to get rid of the lost dutchess somehow and find a new way. Speaking of which…a part of him wanted to feed on her. He was hungry after the battle, and he could definitely use the food. Two birds with one stone…if he fed on her now, he could simply return to the Court, and leave this foolishness about honor behind him. And yet… since Jerell's sacrifice, a part of him had returned with renewed strength. And, a part of him just didn't care to feed anymore. Calmus, at length, decided to let that part win out, and decided to start some conversation to distract himself from the desire to feed.

"Well, then, Dutchess,", he smirked sarcastically over the light of the dying fire. "What's your story, then? Why won't you go to Braddock where you belong?" At her silence, he continued, "You said you would tell me if I took you with me. I have done so. Now, what are you running away from?"

Maggie started out softly, then said, "I was born into a wealthy, powerful family. Not quite nobility, but…close. Braddock, you see, is controlled by several rival houses. They all vie with each other for trade and control. Most of the time it stays civil, but sometimes, it spills over. I never really had much part of it; I lived in my house with my mother and my family, and sometimes I listened to the men talk about what was going on with the local politics. That's all I knew about it." She shrugged. "Then, it turned ugly. I don't know how, I don't know why. Whatever the cause was, one of the rival houses decided to hire a few assassins." Here she stopped. "I don't want to go into specifics, but the servants rushed me out the back entrance, and I was separated from everyone else." She continued in a monotone, as if she were merely repeating a history lesson rather than reliving the event. "I didn't know what to do or where to go; I had rarely gone into the city. So, I switched my nice clothes for some rags, slunk around the streets for a day or so, and then begged a ride off of a stage coach driver." She shrugged again. The last I heard, the word on the street was that several houses had united, and heads were rolling. Trouble is, I didn't know whose heads they had been. I just jumped on that coach and disappeared. Changed my name to Maggie, a common peasant's name that would fit in. The coach stopped at that village, and the driver said that this was where his charity ended."

Calmus nodded. "I see. That is a rather unfortunate tale."

There was silence after that. After a little while, Calmus spoke up, "If you like, you could tell me who it was, and I could get rid of them for you, if they are still in control."

Maggie waved the offer away. "No, that's not how it works there…If one house's leaders would mysteriously disappear, it would just cause more of the same. And then, some other poor girl who had nothing to do with any of it would be out on the streets just like me. No, I think I'm past petty revenge by now."

Calmus nodded. "Wise thoughts."

More silence. "One last thing. How did you end up at my keep?"

Maggie shook her head. "The council made everybody draw straws to see who the sacrifice would be. A young woman with a few bastard children drew the short straw. I don't really know why…but I took her place. I suppose it was because the caravan driver who took me out of Braddock had done the same for me. He probably knew from the way I spoke that I was nobility, and that I was mixed up in the war with the houses. He took a risk by letting me on, when he had no reason to." Maggie shrugged. "So, I took a risk for someone else when I had no reason to."

Calmus stared into the fire, lost in thought. "Very noble of you," he responded after a while. "It seems that everyone but myself still knows what honor is."

At that, he turned around to stare into the night. "Well, I suppose that you had best get some sleep; we will have plenty of walking tomorrow."

Maggie nodded sullenly; she had not thought of the events that had led her here for quite some time. With a sigh, she realized that they were both simply drowning in their own struggles, plodding along down the same road with no end in sight, a world apart. A pretty dour way to end the day, she thought.

As she laid down, blanketless, on the soft earth, she heard a small question, "What is your real name?"

Maggie started at that. Her real name…at that, memories flooded back to her, and the sadness that she had kept at bay started to flood back into her. As everything began to rain down on her poor, lost head, she managed to choke out past the tide of memories, "I'll keep that to myself, Count."

In the darkness, Calmus heard her softly crying, and kept the night watch long after she had sobbed herself to sleep in the knowledge of what she had lost.

* * *

Travel passed swiftly after that. Walking down the same road to nowhere, lost in their own separate seas of loss, they rarely spoke; they simply plodded along, chasing the vain dream that the end of this road would give them any solace. Chasing the vain hope that one man's honor would somehow save them from the darkness closing in all about them and give them a new future.

They came to another town, Willmont, and Calmus sent Maggie in with some gold to buy food. She returned with something better; a caravan schedule. "The night stage leaves at an hour past dusk. I looked for anyone in Inquisitor's robes, and didn't see a soul like that. The stage should be safe."

That night, they were on it.


	18. Arrival

Calmus and Maggie rode into Franston on the night coach, both of them eagerly awaiting the end of the ride. It had been bumpy and uneventful, and neither of them were in a very good mood.

They had spent the past week either hiding out in the woods during the day or taking carriages at night, at one point, they had almost stumbled across a member of the Inquisition while waiting for the coach at an inn, but their story about the kiln and jeweler held up, and they escaped before he arrived. They had made it across the Empire in four day's travel, and into the heart of Bretonnia in another two. Leading, finally, to Franston, Jerell's hometown.

As the carriage clattered down the cobblestone streets, Calmus grumbled, "I don't know how I let you talk me into this. What am I even doing here in the middle of Brettonia? What if I'm discovered? And how on earth did I get stuck in this rattling old carriage for four hours?"

"Oh, come off it.", Maggie grumbled back. "What were you other options? You want to know why Jerell saved you, don't you?"

"Right now, all I want is the get out of this damn contraption!", Calmus shot back, glowering. He hadn't eaten since the battle, and it had been a week's trek. It was beginning to show; his scarred face had become gaunt and drawn, and he was weak both in body and spirit. He was losing his patience for everything around him; Maggie, this fool's errand he had set himself on, and most of all, his insistence not to feed.

Maggie nodded her silent agreement. "It won't be long now."

The coach rattled onwards, and Maggie's words proved true; they came to a halt after only a few more minutes. Calmus hurriedly disembarked, and thrust a few coins into the driver's waiting hand, not even bothering to count them. "Keep the change, for your excellent job of managing to hit every single bump on the road." Calmus growled, his hunger robbing him of a sense of thrift but not his sarcasm.

They checked into the inn, and headed to their room. Calmus sat down heavily on the bed, his sigh just as heavy. Maggie said, "Just get to sleep; I'll go have a look around in the morning and ask for Jerell."

"I'm not tired; I'm hungry." growled Calmus.

Maggie looked over at him, a sharp retort on her lips, but she saw by the look in his eyes that he was not to be trifled with at the moment. 'If I hadn't eaten for a week', she thought, 'I might not be in my right mind either.' Instead of a smart remark, she changed her track.

"You managed to hold off for weeks, even months, back at the keep." she softly reminded him. "You can do so again."

Calmus shook his head, his expression softening a bit. "That was different. Back then, I could sleep for days, and I never had to use my powers. After the battle at Fort Dolan, I was completely drained. And, I've been traveling, not sleeping. And, traveling through the Empire this past week, I've been seeing the Inquisition around every corner. I haven't been able to rest as I would before. I feel like I'm going to lose control any minute."

Maggie nodded in sympathy; while she couldn't really put herself in his shoes, she knew what it was like to be hungry. She had broken down and stolen for food before she had escaped to the mountain village.

Sighing, she sat down next to him, and said. "You can make it through this. This has to be the end of the journey, I know it. Jerell mentioned this town by name at some point, I just can't remember exactly when. Just get to sleep, and in the morning, I'll find out what I can."

Calmus nodded, wearily. It had been so long. He looked at her neck. So inviting... he shook his head, laid down on the floor, and nodded off to sleep. So long...

Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. She knew the journey had to end soon, or Calmus would lose control. Whether it was her he fed on, or some poor peasant, remained to be seen. As she climbed into the bed, she wondered what would happen if Calmus did find out what he needed to about Jerell. That knowledge wouldn't cure him. What would happen then?

In the morning, Maggie stepped gingerly over Calmus, who was still asleep on the floor, made sure the curtains were tightly shut so the sun would not fall on him as he slept, and headed out.

She tried the usual places first; markets, the town well, and even the bank. Nothing; it seemed Jerell was a common name. Finally, she tried the barracks. She managed to flag down an officer and drop Jerell's name.

"You mean the older one who left in the Spring? I don't know what's become of him."

Maggie thanked him; that was all she needed to know.

* * *

Calmus woke up blearily at dusk; and Maggie was there, sitting on the bed and reading a book she had somehow managed to scrounge up from the innkeeper.

"Any luck with your fool's errand?" Calmus asked, getting up off the floor, groggy and hungry.

Maggie looked up from the book. "I think, good sir, that we have found the end of our fool's errand."


	19. Discovery

Calmus approached the barracks in the starlight, Maggie in tow, asking to see the ranking officer on duty. Once the man was found, he beckoned them inside.

"What is it this late at night, stranger?" the officer asked. He didn't remark on Calmus' face; he was used to scars.

"I was wondering who I might speak to about a man in your service, who would have left here a few months ago, in the Spring. His name was Jerell."

"Jerell? Sure, sure, I know the one. Come with me. The maiden stays here though, I'm afraid."

The man led Calmus out to an old, seemingly deserted barracks building, the windows dark.

"Hmm...looks as if he's asleep, can this wait until morning?"

Calmus smiled sardonically. "I'm afraid that morning would not be an appropriate time."

Shrugging, the officer banged on the door. "Hey! Doan! Wake up!"

After a few minutes, an old man blearily opened the door with a creak, a wrinkly face appearing in the starlight.

"This man has some word about Jerell. Wanted to see you. Said it couldn't wait." With that, the officer nodded to both men, turned on his heel, and walked back to the barracks, leaving the two alone.

The old man, apparently named Doan, tiredly rubbed his eyes and invited Calmus in.

"Light a lamp, will you?" he requested.

Calmus, though he could see perfectly well in the dark, complied.

Doan sat down at a small table, and beckoned Calmus to take a seat. They were alone in the barracks. "Well, spit it out, Scars. What's all this about?"

Calmus got right down to the point. "I take it you knew Jerell?"

Doan shrugged. "About as well as anyone here. I was sort of in charge of him."

Calmus cocked his head. "What do you mean? You were his superior officer?"

Doan shook his head. "No, I'm no officer. I'm just an old, washed up soldier. No, Jerell came to us off the streets, out of the gutter. He begged us to let him on, told us he wanted to restore his honor. The boys up front kicked him out at first, but he just kept on comin and beggin, so finally, they said, 'Fine, go see old Doan, and give him something to do. If he can make a soldier out of you, then you're in.' And, so, the lad came to me. They often send young lads to me; keeps me busy."

Calmus nodded. "Tell me more."

"Well, Jerell see, he worked like crazy to become a knight. He trained and he trained, I taught him everything I know. Which ain't much, but I've got ten years soldiering under my belt, that's enough to get by." Doan smiled wanly at the thought and sighed.

Doan trailed off, and Clamus let him settle in his own reflections for a while, still curious but not wanting to rankle the old man.

Abruptly, Doan started up again, "But, Jerell, I suppose he got somebody's attention, because pretty soon, they gave him a suit of armor and sent him off." Doan shrugged. "Likely because he worked so damn hard. Worked himself to the bone, that lad did."

Calmus thought for a moment, and asked, "Why did he work so hard? What drove him?"

Doan leaned over. "I know why."

"Why was that?"

"Because, one night he tells me, he tells me that he had killed a man. Back when he lived in the gutter. It wasn't a fair fight neither. He tells me he snuck up behind him and stuck him like a pig." Doan shook his old, white haired head. "So what does Jerell do? His conscience won't let him be. He figures he's gonna burn for what he's done. So, what does he do? He repents. He went and confessed the whole thing." Doan shook his head, "Can't fathom what would drive a man to do that, but it musta been his conscience. After he got out of prison, he started to fall back into the gutter again, so he joined the knights, to stay out of it."

Doan shook his head. "At first, the command didn't want anything to do with him, but eventually he wore them down, so they assigned him to me. Whew, I've never seen a lad work so hard at anything! He trained and trained and trained like his life depended on it. Paid off, too, got him noticed and got him his rank. And, he worked so hard, because he told me one night, that after he had killed one man, and after he repented, he wanted to save one man."

Doan leaned back in his chair. "And that's all I know about him. I see many young men come and go through here, but that was him, that was Jerell; and this is me, sitting here all washed up, wondering where the young lads who pass through here ever end up. Although, Jerell was bit older, seein as how he was in jail for years and years." After a moment, he asked, "So, what did you come to see me for, anyways?"

Calmus, still reflecting on what the old man had said, replied with a question, "Did he have any family?"

Doan shook his head. "Gutter boy. Orphan. Nothin."

Calmus nodded, and stood. "Well, I'm afraid he's dead. He died..." after a moment's hesitation, he finished his sentence, "tell everyone he died killing a vampire. I came all the way from Sylvania to honor him by returning his sword."

At that, Calmus drew back his cloak to show Jerells' sheathed blade, unbuckled it, and set it on the table between them. "He didn't just save one man, he saved an entire village on the Empire's eastern border."

Calmus looked down at the grim wight blade, now scarred with twisted runes, the hilt covered in skulls and bones. A far cry from a questing knight's shining, glowing, pure sword. "As you see, it is corrupted. The vampire had turned him to a wight, but somehow, he managed to defeat the vampire and free the village. Unfortunately, he never returned."

Doan was incredulous. "How did he do it? How did he kill the vampire? Do you know?"

Calmus thought a moment, and simply replied, "With honor. See to it that his story is told here where he lived."

With that, Calmus turned away from Doan's amazed look, and walked out the door, closing it softly behind him. Once clear of the barracks, he silently vanished into the shadows of the night.

He met up with Maggie outside, and told her everything on the way back to the inn.


	20. Confession

Once they were inside their room, and Calmus had shut the door, he asked her, "Well, Dutchess? What do you think of that? We have Jerell's history and his motives before us. Was it worth it, for this fool's errand?"

Maggie was lost in thought for a moment, then she replied, "Well, I certainly never expected to hear that about Jerell, but I'm glad he turned his life around, for both our sakes."

There was a long silence after that. They could hear the late night carousing in the inn's main hall, and crickets chirping outside. Between the two sounds, they simply sat in mute recognition of this man who had done so much with such courage, yet who had seemed to do so little.

Maggie finally broke the silence. "But, this fool's errand just bought me some distance from Braddock. We didn't come out here for my sake. What of you, Count? What did you find?"

Calmus sighed, a deep, bitter sigh. The sigh said much. He didn't have any answers. "I found what I knew all too well before. That I came out here to delay the inevitable. The only place left for me in this world is the Count's court. And if I return there, I will lose all semblance of honor. What morals, what little scrap of humanity I had left, will become lost. I will degrade into a monster, just like my brothers. And, I will relish every minute of it."

Maggie shook her head. "Don't do it, Count."

Clamus shrugged. "What am I to do, then? The only way I can feed honorably is in battle, and I can't fight for anyone but the Court. I could drink the worst sorts of criminals, I suppose, but I can't stalk the gutters for murderers for long. I don't have the skill to avoid the Inquisitors."

Calmus stared into space for a little while; Maggie had nothing to say to that. At length, he spoke. "The only honorable thing to do is not to feed. And, that will lead to my death. But, there is no honor in suicide."

"I could kill you." Maggie suggested snidely.

Calmus laughed at that. "A good idea, I grant you, but suicide by accomplice is still suicide. I can't do that."

Calmus sighed deeply again. "I have enough blood on my hands, there's no need to soil yours with murder as well."

Abruptly Calmus cursed. "And that's what I am. A murderer, no better than a common thug. " He stared hard at Maggie. "Do you have any idea how many people I've killed? Innocent people?" He shook his head. "You should get away from me, let me return to the Court, where at least I can be in the company of other murderous bastards." He laughed at himself. "I don't know how I managed the illusion of humanity for so long. Who was I fooling? Galreh was right. I was only fooling myself."

Maggie stared back at him, silently agreeing. A part of her made to do just as he said; leave right now and let him sink back into the damnable, vile hole of the Sylvanian Court, far away from her. She had gained her distance from Braddock now; that was all she had to gain by coming here anyway. She had gotten the trip out of him, done her best to help, and now at his suggestion, she had better be on her way, before his control snapped and she became his next meal.

But, something held her back. Some part of her pitied the Count, and she knew there was one more thing she could say. With a part of her cursing her stupidity for not running out the door, she said it:

"Jerell was a murderer. Just like you."

Calmus paused in his laughter a moment. "Yes. Yes, I suppose he was."

"And he managed to escape from that, and turn his life around. You saw what he became."

Calmus nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. He confessed, paid his debt to society, and made a better life for himself. You want me to do the same? Tell me, Dutchess, who shall I confess to? The only way that I will be allowed to pay my debt will be a stake and a fire. How am I supposed to make a new life for myself when I am dead?"

Maggie sighed, all out of answers. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

Calmus chuckled. "No, Dutchess, you should not be sorry. Your heart is in the right place. Unfortunately, I have hit a dead end. A return to my murderous kindred on one hand, and suicide on the other." He smiled mirthlessly. "I'm afraid that I just can't manage suicide. Even undead as I am, I have too much love of life…or, perhaps, too much to fear of death."

At that, he was about to pause, but instead continued, "If I am to return to the Court tomorrow, though, I should at least like to say, to the last human being I will ever have any contact with, that I regret what I have done, and what I am going to do." He sat down on the bed heavily, staring into the air in front of him. "I regret killing those peasants. I regret killing your cellmates. I regret locking you all up in the first place. I regret ruining all those lives I took." He sighed. "I tried to make amends as much as I could, by seeing the village to safety. But, that wasn't much, and now it's too late to do anything more."

He looked down at his hands, and chuckled sadly. "Do you have any idea how pathetic this is? These hands are drenched in innocent blood, and all I have to say is, 'Sorry about that.'"

A pause. "I suppose I'll burn one day for what I've done."

He paused, and then said, "You should go now."

Maggie looked at him, at that face so empty of answers but so full of sorrow. So…lost. Lost like her. She couldn't put herself in the Count's shoes, but she could at least sympathize with someone else who was lost.

She nodded. "Yes, I should. But, if this is the last night that you are going to have before descending into a pit of madness, at least you should spend it with a friend. I'll stay."

Calmus looked back up at her quizzically. Jokingly, he asked; "Going to stake me while I sleep and take my gold, is that it?"

Martha shrugged. "Well, like you said, not a bad idea, and I don't have much gold. But, I don't think I'd stoop that low. Do you?"

Calmus laughed humorlessly. "No, I don't, Dutchess. You have too much honor for that. You are too human."

There was a silence for while before she responded, "Please don't do this Count. You know it's not right. Don't go back."

Calmus nodded his agreement. "But, what am I to do? Either I can do what I know to be wrong, or I can die. There is nowhere that I can run from my own hunger. I don't have much choice."

With that, he laid down on the bed, and tossed her his purse of gold. "That's for keeping my company before I fall into a deep, black pit. Do what you like with it and get out of here."

Maggie nodded, and tucked it away. But, instead of leaving, she settled down into the chair. "Remember, Count, I've got nobody to go to. I'll at least keep the death watch with you."

Calmus nodded, and whispered, "Thanks." before falling into a fitful slumber.

For a moment, Maggie considered staking him while he slept, and then discarded the idea. Instead, she checked the curtains to make sure they were tightly closed, blew out the lamp, and settled down to sleep herself. She was not looking forward to the approaching day any more than Calmus was. A new city, a new place she didn't belong, a new set of risks…at least back in the village, it had been a small enough town that there had been very little crime, and she had felt physically safe, at least. Here in the city, though... she shuddered a bit. At least with Calmus around, she was safe. Anyone who dared come after her would simply become an excuse for the Count to feed. But come the morrow, her only protection would be gone back to his bastard kindred. She wasn't relishing the prospect of seeking out safety in this city. With her only protection gone, what was she supposed to do? Where was she supposed to go? She felt the bag of gold Calmus had thrown her. Enough for carriage fare and food…to where?

Nowhere, she realized bitterly.

She shrugged. Misery loves company, she supposed, before she fell asleep.


	21. Judgement

Calmus slept fitfully for a little while, tossing and turning, the faces of his victims flashing through his mind. His confession to Maggie had brought everything to the surface, and his conscience tormented him even in his sleep, with disjointed fragments of his many crimes.

Eventually, something started approaching in the distance; an all too familiar pale shadow. The silent companion to his every feeding, the silent watcher at every battle. Death had finally come to visit him.

The cold shadow stopped a few feet from Calmus in his fevered dream, which suddenly became much calmer.

In a slow, sorrowful voice, it spoke, "You certainly are a strange one."

Calmus cocked his head, confused in this dream world. "How so?"

"I have seldom seen your kind express regret for what they have done."

Calmus shrugged. "My regret won't bring any lives back. What is it to you?"

"In one respect, it is nothing to me. I will have you in the end, one way or another. Your curse only prolongs the inevitable. But, in another respect, it means a great deal."

At Calmus' confused look, Death continued, "A mortal cleanses their soul by the act of repentance. You saw this in Jerell."

Calmus nodded. Indeed he had.

"But, you are no longer mortal, and thus you cannot. Your curse is holding you back; true repentance causes you to shun your crimes, but you must kill to stay alive. You cannot shun murder while you live. Your curse cannot allow you to truly repent."

The shadow reached out an ethereal hand. "I have seen your sorrow. Come with me, now, of your own will, and you may yet escape your well-deserved fate."

Calmus laughed. "Come? With you? That's just suicide. I'll have none of it."

Death shook its head. "No, only a beating heart can die. You physically died long ago. If you come with me, now, you die to your curse. And I will give you one chance to escape your fate as a murderer."

Calmus looked at the spirit guide quizzically. It seemed to be telling the truth; he doubted it had ulterior motives.

As Death stood there, Calmus considered his options. What did he have left? Return to the Court and lose himself in mindless feeding? Lose what little humanity he had left?

Die to his curse? He didn't think it was possible.

With nothing else to lose, Calmus reached out his arm and shook hands with Death.

* * *

In the inn room, Death watched Maggie rise from her chair at dawn. She looked over at the sleeping Calmus with sympathy and sorrow, then left the room and went down for breakfast. After she had shut the door, Death, standing across the room from Calmus' sleeping form, drew back the curtains slowly. Harsh, burning sunlight fell fully upon Calmus' skin, and it began to smolder away in the full sunlight. With the breaking of the dawn, so broke Calmus' chains of undeath.

Death stayed to watch a moment, as Calmus' spirit rose out of the pile of ashes on the bed. Then Death took Calmus' hand, and turned away to guide his new charge to the appointed place.

Maggie returned after an hour or so, and saw the curtains open, and a vaguely human shaped layer of dust on the bed, under Calmus' clothes. She looked around, confused. What? He was still on the bed, still asleep when she had left…there was no way he could have opened them himself and still be on the bed…the window was too far way…who else…

Somehow, through her confusion, she knew that Calmus had managed to escape, though she didn't quite know how or why.

"Well, my friend," she said simply, "I hope they're treating you well wherever you are."

* * *

Calmus followed Death through misty corridors, finally arriving at a solid stone room; it had a large skylight in the ceiling, a deep pit below the skylight, and an alcove in the far wall. The ethereal mists still rolled throughout the room.

"What is this place?" asked Calmus.

"This is the last chance I am giving you." Death walked forwards, and waved his hand. Out of the mists arose a wooden pedestal, and on it sat a simple scale. One end of the scale was weighted down heavily by solid iron coins, the other side was empty.

"Those coins represent all of the lives you have taken. Normally, all of the blood on your hands would drag you down into one of the deepest pits."

Death turned back to his charge. "If you are to escape your fate, the balance on the scale will have to be reversed."

Calmus looked at the scale, and then turned away in shame. So many coins…

"How do I atone for those coins?"

"You cannot. You killed them, and there is no way for you to undo what you have done."

"Then, how do I move them?"

"You cannot. Only the ones they represent have any right to move those coins."

At that, Calmus cocked his head. "I don't understand."

Death gestured to the scale. "Those coins are the blood on your hands. I have no right to move them. You have no right to move them. The only fair verdict for you is the torment reserved for murderers. I am giving you the only opportunity to change that verdict."

"How?"

In response, Death beckoned towards the alcove, and called out a name.

In the alcove, a wisp began to take shape, a wisp that resolved itself into the face, and then the full body; that of the page boy, now free of his wraith form.

Calmus stepped back for a moment in shock.

Death spoke, "Vernard may have forced your hand, yet you still carried out the deed. The blood is on your hands."

Calmus was too shocked to speak at first. Then, once he finally collected himself, he collapsed on his knees in front of his former subject. All he could manage past his tears were the words, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The page boy nodded. "I know. I remember you as you were, before the curse…and you were good to me then. I can't hold what you did against you. It was the damn curse…it killed us all."

The page stepped forwards, and moved his coin from the heavy side of the scale to the other. "My blood is not on your hands." He smiled at the Count. "I forgive you. How could I blame you in the first place when it was the curse the whole time?"

Calmus, still a bit speechless, watched the page boy disappear back into the alcove and fade away.

Death nodded and the next came. A peasant whom Calmus had killed on an early raid into the Empire; a nameless face and a nameless death. The man leveled cold, hard eyes at his killer.

"I think we understand each other here, vampire. Blood for blood. You killed me. I condemn you."

Calmus nodded, a bit tearfully. "Yes, I think we do. It's your turn for vindication; take it. I can only ask for mercy."

The man shook his head. "Mercy? Did you show me mercy? No. This is justice."

Without another word, he turned his back on the Count, and faded away, his coin unmoved.

Death nodded, and the next came. It was one of the prisoners that Calmus had kept in his keep. As the prisoner came out of the alcove, he smiled a vicious smile.

"YOU!" he thundered. "I've been waiting to see you, you worthless scum!"

He ran up to Calmus, and threw him violently to the ground, catching the Count by surprise. "I've been waiting for this!" He proceeded to pummel Calmus in the face mercilessly, slamming his fists into his face as hard as he could.

Pain as a spirit was not quite like pain as a body, but it hurt Calmus enough as the poor peasant released all of his pent up rage at his killer.

After a while, he called out to Death, "Get me something better than my own fists!"

Death shrugged, "What would you like?"

The man grinned. "A nice, heavy mace!"

Death waved his hand once more, and the mists to the man's side cleared to reveal a mace with a short handle and a very heavy looking tip. The peasant grabbed it and, with a triumphant yell of fury, swung it with all of his ghostly might.

Calmus had no bones to break, so his ethereal appearance did not change as the mace smashed into him over and over. But, he felt every blow just as sharply as the last. After every word, the peasant smashed him again:

"DO!"

"YOU!"

"EVEN!"

"KNOW!"

"MY!"

"NAME!"

A pause for breath, only out of habit, as he could no longer breathe as a ghost,

"OF!"

"COURSE!"

"NOT!"

"YOU!"

"JUST!"

"KILLED!"

"ME!"

Once the peasant had worn himself out on his killer, he leaned on his mace and spat at him. "How does it feel to be helpless? Can't defend yourself, you bastard?"

Calmus shook his head sadly. "No. I won't. I won't defend myself because I know I deserve it." Calmus raised his head, and stared at the peasant directly in the eyes. " I deserve worse."

"You're damn right you do!" the man leaped back on his feet and tore into Calmus over and over. The Count was tempted to disarm the man and at least send him on his way, but his sorrow stayed his hand. He knew he had murdered this man in cold blood, and any vindication that he wanted to take was his.

Calmus didn't know how long the pain went on, and the peasant lost track of how many times he struck his killer. Death watched the beating continue silently.

At long last, the peasant was satisfied. He threw his mace into the Count's face, and stalked off towards the alcove. "My coin is in the pile that says he burns, right?"

Death nodded.

"Good."

The peasant looked over his shoulder one last time, expecting to see a sneer on the Count's face. He was surprised to see only sorrow. The Count whispered a question, "What is your name?"

A bit taken aback, the peasant answered, "Renault."

"Well, Renault," Calmus answered with a sigh. "I'm sorry for what I've done to you. At least you can take solace in my screams as I burn for killing you, and maybe, after a while you could find it in your heart to forgive me after listening to them for a few years. Not that it will matter then, of course. But, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Renault stared at him for a while, seeing Calmus' honest sorrow. He thought for a moment, and then, very slowly, he walked over to the scale and moved his coin.

Calmus furrowed his brow and looked on in amazement. "What on earth did you do that for?"

Renault replied. "Because, I remembered Jerell telling me his story in the prison cell. I respected him a great deal for what he had done, turning his life around and all. And, he said that if he hadn't been given a second chance, he would still be a in the gutter, or dead, certainly not bringing us extra food." Renault shrugged. "I see the same sorrow in you as I did in him. That sorrow for your crimes…shows you turned around, somehow. I got my rage out on you, and now my head is a bit more clear. You don't deserve for me to move your coin, but, well… nobody ever deserves a second chance, do they? They just get it."

With that, Renault made up his mind, and disappeared back into the alcove.

Calmus' next few were not so forgiving. They didn't even speak to him, but simply looked at him and pronounced their verdict.

"BURN!"

"DIE YOU SCUM!"

"FINALLY GOT WHAT'S COMIN TO YA!"

None of them jumped out to beat him, but none of them moved their coins. Death nodded after each one and called the next. Calmus simply knelt there in sorrow, flooded with guilt. He had no defense.

The ten of his own soldiers whom he had killed came, and they moved their coins. Much like the page boy, they remembered him for who he was in life, not undeath.

Old Clem from the village came. He just shrugged and said, "Well, ya saved the townsfolk like ya said ya would, I can't fault ya for that." He moved his coin and disappeared.

Then the other councilman whom he had eaten. He looked Calmus over, and simply said. "I don't want to vote. I want to see him burn, but he saved the town, and I can't decide. Between vengeance or returning the favor." Death simply nodded and removed his coin from the scale entirely.

Then came the woman whom Calmus had killed in the garden. She smiled when she saw Calmus' sorrowful face. "I _knew_ there was hope for you." She moved her coin.

Jerell came, and simply smiled at Calmus knowingly, glad that he had turned away from his vampiric form. He moved his coin.

After that, many more prisoners came, each shouting for his demise, and leaving their coins right where they were.

Calmus dared not look at the scale or his accusers; he knew their charges were just.

All thirty of the villagers whom he had eaten to break the siege came before him, and they all moved their coins; they had gone willingly, after all. A few thanked him for saving their families, and then they departed.

After the last one had come and gone, Death looked back at the Count. "Your trial is finished."

"What about everyone who I killed in battle? Those beastmen and Dark Elves, and all the humans I killed in life?"

"Enemy soldiers killed in a war still leave blood on your hands, but they cannot condemn you. They were all armed, and you were all in fair combat. Those deaths were not murders, so they do not tip the scale."

Calmus slowly looked up, and wasn't quite sure what he felt when he saw the scale tipped back to the side of innocent. Gratitude? Relief? Guilt?

At length, Calmus simply replied, "I don't understand. I'm guilty."

Death nodded. "Yes, you are. That is the essence of forgiveness. All of your victims had a legitimate charge against you, and justice dictates that they could have watched you burn for it. But, they chose not to. Whether because of the circumstances, or simply from the goodness of their heart, they chose mercy over justice, even to the man who killed them."

"But…why?"

"They saw your sorrow, and they saw it was honest. You cannot earn mercy. But, you renounced your crimes and repented, and that was enough for them."

After a pause, Death continued, in an official tone: "You are redeemed, Count Calmus. Your victims have erased your crimes because of your sorrow."

At that, Calmus rose into the light, speechless. And, at long last, after a decade of imprisonment, finally free.


	22. Epilogue

Maggie rode up to Calmus' keep, the noonday sun shining down through the trees, both the living ones and the dead. Some of the plants were starting to grow again, now that the Counts' influence had waned in this area. She approached the gates with Doan in tow; a week ago, she had gathered up Calmus' ashes in the blanket, resolving to bury the poor man back at his keep. She had little else to occupy her time, and Calmus had still carried enough gold for the return trip. She could have simply taken the gold for herself and left, but she knew that the burial was simply the right thing to do. Besides, she told herself, it would buy more time from the inevitable. She had approached the barracks, asking if someone would escort her to bury a friend; sounded like a worthy quest for a young knight.

But, none of them wanted to travel all that way. So the task, like so many others the command wanted dealt with, was relegated to Doan. He was old, but the mere sight of his armor made any bandits who saw them decide that he wasn't worth the trouble.

On the way, Maggie had told Doan the whole story of Calmus, of her past and her troubles, how she had escaped from the rival house, and how her family was dead, and now she had nowhere to go. Doan had listened quietly but sympathetically; he didn't know what to do with the poor woman.

But, now, their journey was at an end, and the keep stood before them, still abandoned. Maggie led Doan through the gate and around the side, to the little graveyard that Calmus had kept; Jerell had told her about it. She slid down, taking the shovel off of one of the horses, and said, "Well, here we are." Doan nodded, got off his horse, and took the other shovel. It didn't take long to bury the bag of ashes, set up a marker, and say a quick prayer for his soul.

Once it was done, they lit torches and Maggie led the way into the keep, searching for Jerell's bones. It took a while, but eventually she found the wine cellar, and Jerell's armor, scattered about with the half-decayed Skaven dead. Doan nodded in appreciation. "I always knew Jerell was a good fighter. Took down a lot of those rats with him." They took the combatants' bones, and buried them in the graveyard, as well.

Doan was a bit surprised once they found the throne room; he simply hadn't expected to find such a slaughter there. There was no way that they could pick through the rotting Skaven bodies for the remains of the wights, but they did shovel the remains into the collapsed hole, and turned a few shovels of earth over it, a mass grave as it were.

It was twilight by the time they were done, and they broke camp outside. Maggie knew the keep was deserted, but didn't know what lingering effects Vuk'osh's experiments had had within the keep, and didn't wish to find out. They kept watch that night, taking turns, and nothing approached their little camp.

As morning approached, Maggie had a strange dream. She kept seeing a particular spot in the keep, kept heading down specific passages to a particular room. She could have sworn she heard Calmus' voice, saying, "Go there."

Once dawn broke, she convinced Doan to travel back with her one more time. She found the room, and searched about for a minute, perplexed as to why she had had the dream. Either it was just her overactive imagination, or Calmus had managed to send her a dream. But…why? What was the point? Why her? They both searched the room, and eventually, Doan found a few loose bricks in the floor under a rug. They found handholds cut into the bricks, and pulled.

It was the keep's treasury, untouched since Calmus had been turned. Calmus had not been wealthy by royal standards, but he had been a Count, and by Maggie's standards, he had possessed a king's ransom. Maggie looked at Doan, and chuckled a bit. "I'm glad I chose to bring an honorable knight. If I had paid for a guard, I'd be dead right now, and some grubby mercenary would be rich."

Doan waved it off. "I'm an old, washed up knight, and I've taken vows of poverty. All I can own is the armor on my back. It's yours, little lady." After a moment's thought, he asked, "Don't you have some extended family somewhere? Away from all the scheming in Braddock?"

Maggie, a bit at a loss as she stared at the gold glittering in the torchlight, nodded. Vaguely, she replied, "Yes, I have an uncle far to the west, in Camberton. I haven't seen him in years, I had never thought to go to him, he isn't very well off, and the trip is so far… I didn't see how I could get there or how he could help…"

Doan chuckled now. "Well, it looks as if your luck has turned around, little lady. I don't know what you'll do, but there seems a good place to start."

Maggie nodded her head absently, as Doan hauled a huge bag of gold over his shoulder wit ha heave. "There's no way the horses can carry all this. We'll load up the coach, and hitch them up to it."

Again Maggie nodded absently. As Doan went out of the room, her silently whispered, "Thank you." was clearly heard somewhere beyond the veil.

* * *

Two weeks later, Maggie rode into Camberton, her hands full of gold and her heart full of dreams. It was a peaceful place, in the heart of the Empire and far from the fields of battle, and here she would find solace.

The End

**A/N: So, that's it! Please review real quick and tell me what you think! Good, bad, I'd like to hear it! I know the ending was a little too happy for a Warhammer story, but figured that it sort of evened out with the three big battles. I had considered having Calmus die in the battle with the Dark Elves, but I had also wanted to show him being redeemed somehow, and it it felt like an unsatisfying ending that way. Jerell's sacrifice had to show him something, had to mean something, and there wasn't enough time to do that if he just died in the battle. Anyway, thanks for reading! **


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